


I Am Damaged

by Raging_Celiac



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Drama, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 70,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11794173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raging_Celiac/pseuds/Raging_Celiac
Summary: Jeremy Heere is trying to put the events of his junior year behind him when his father's company moves to Sherwood, Ohio and he's forced to move away from his only friend, Michael Mell. Through his haze of angst, the one positive Jeremy can find is that there's no-one at this school who could know what he pulled back at Middleborough, so he won't be treated as badly, he hopes. I can deal with the bullies, he tells himself. Of course, things go awry when he manages to simultaneously gain the interest of the local emo kid and his new school's demon queen in his first week. The series of events that unfolds next is as improbable to Jeremy as it is shocking, but hey - since when was life not a complicated mess?





	1. Chapter 1

**Jeremy Heere** hadn't thought his life could be much worse at the moment. Moving away from his only friend and only a month before Senior Year? That's just great. No, really, it is; it made him feel even more depressed at his life. If he was ever to write a memoir, this could get him even more pity points if someone read it. If he survived this year, that was.

     He'd had his own rules back at Middleborough - they'd helped him survive. Never make eye contact with anybody in the hall. Never raise your hand in class. Never make passes on girls. Never look at anybody for more than a few seconds. Never take unnecessary social risks. And _never_ talk back to jocks. The black eye Jeremy got from doing that once was more than enough to discourage him from doing that again.

 _"_ _What'd you say to me, tall-ass?"_

 _"I_ _said you're dumber than a bag of rocks, asshole."_

     That little bit of talkback gained him a trip to the nurse's office, Rich a suspension, and more animosity between the two of them. It was mainly Rich, but Jeremy held his own reservations about the former, too. He was still adamant that Rich was an asshole though.

     The teen shook his head, untidy brown hair flopping about his head. His eyes drifted to the buffering symbol of his porno - aka any modern teenager's worst enemy - and they narrowed. If it would only load. Then he could just get his business done and go to school with some amount of satisfaction, even if it was the guilty kind. Jeremy was about to click on another video when his eyes found the digital clock next to his computer.

**7:04**

     Time to go. Jeremy got up, shut down his MacBook, and picked up his backpack. He slid a single strap over his shoulder and let the other hang limp. Before he left, he briefly saw his reflection in the empty screen of his MacBook Pro: what looked back at him was a skinny boy who hadn't even turned seventeen yet, with dirt-brown hair that was in disarray. A somewhat mousy face that was had lost most of it's pimples (something Jeremy considered a godsend) and had a nearly-crooked nose that itself was above thin lips. The only thing he could call even somewhat attractive about himself was his light blue eyes. Of course, that was when his disarrayed hair didn't draw people's attention from them. His dad had pestered him about dressing up for his first day at another school. Jeremy honestly didn't care that much. What would he gain from looking at least decently presentable on his first day? Some respect? He knew that wouldn't last for more than a week. And if the jocks at his old school were any indication, nor would it stop them from harassing him.

     He'd given to his parent's pestering somewhat though; instead of wearing a t-shirt that advertised his skinniness, Jeremy wore a plaid-pattern shirt of a forgettable khaki color that advertised his lack of muscle mass. A jacket he'd picked up a year earlier was a darker shade of khaki was also worn, and Jeremy hoped that it provided enough contrast so that he didn't look like a complete geek. The jeans he wore were weathered and old, but they were so broken in - and Jeremy had seemingly stopped growing enough - that he didn't need to replace them. Not that he'd likely do that in the first place.

     The teen collected his cell phone from his desk and turned it on as he opened his door. He pushed it open whilst looking down, and opened his contacts. There was exactly one message, a text from his best friend, Michael Mell. Jeremy opened it, and immediately shook his head. It read:

     _Leaving for school yet? Or is your morning porno not finished yet?_

Jeremy typed his response while walking down the hallway of his family's townhouse. It was carpeted by a yellow-orange rug that concealed floorboards that creaked every time Jeremy made a footfall.

_Yes. And screw you._

Jeremy smiled a bit as he sent the text. He could practically hear Michael's chuckle in his response.

    _So you_ were _watching a porno this morning?_

Jeremy frowned.

_You're not my mom. And I've seen your little "Collection" too._

     Again, the teen could practically hear his friend's amusement in his response.

_Okay, I'll give you that._

     Jeremy smiled in satisfaction.

_But I'm not the one whose fresh meat for a whole school today._

     Jeremy frowned again, nearly making to the door before his father had materialized in front of him. He shut off his phone.

     Jeremy! You almost forgot your paper!" he said, thrusting a crinkled sheet into Jeremy's hands. He took it and began to balk.

     "D-dad!" the teen squeaked out. "You're in your underwear!" His father shrugged.

     "We're all men in this house," _that's debatable,_ Jeremy thought. Despite his father's choice in clothing (and lack thereof), he managed to give a small nod.

     "...Okay. Thanks, dad." with that Jeremy maneuvered around his father and pushed his front door open, texting again to Michael.

_I gotta catch the bus. See you._

     The teen turned his phone off and slid it into one of his pants pockets. He directed his gaze to the map his father had given him.

     "Turn right at Featherston drive," he murmured as he walked down his front steps. "Then take a left at Darwin's grove. Then take another right." And that Jeremy did. The teen walked mechanically and left thoughts swirl about his cluttered mind. Mainly to stop the dread that was beginning to seat itself in his stomach. The special kind - the kind that came only once a year for Jeremy, at the very beginning - but it was amplified this time. There wasn't anybody to talk to at lunch this time around. Nobody to talk to him while staying in tune with the most recent Bob Marley song they'd listened to. Just him; geeky, reedy, Jeremy Heere.

     He closed his eyes, still walking, and tightened his grip on his backpack strap. Lightly grinding his teeth, and after a mental effort, pushed his growing dread to the back of his mind.

     The teen followed the path he'd laid out for himself and reached where his bus stop was supposed to be. A beaten-up, rusted bench sat beneath a dying tree that provided only token shade and equally weathered concrete. Average. There was only one problem with it.

     There wasn't any bus.

     Had he missed it? Jeremy took a breath. No, he told himself. He couldn't dismiss the possibility, but the alternative struck him as unlikely. He couldn't've been early. That would mean he'd've done something right - and as Rich was very willing to insist - he couldn't do anything right. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking around with slight nervousness. Within moments he felt a blush coming up on his face. He shifted his weight from foot-to-foot, letting out a relieved a sigh when he saw the bright yellow form of a school bus. It was standard, what he expected, except for a difference in the county name that was on it's front. The bus came to a stop and opened it's doors, which folded back to let Jeremy's form through. He gripped his back strap harder as he stepped on, keeping hiss eyes firmly rooted to the floor.

     He found an empty seat in the middle of the vehicle, flopped down on it, and set his backpack in his lap. He leaned against the back of his seat, letting his eyes settle on the back of the seat in front of him. He fell into his thoughts again. Michael's text from earlier, while Jeremy knew that it was in good fun, stuck with him.

     _I'm not the one whose fresh meat for a whole school today._

That line was in equal parts cynical and sarcastic. Jeremy let out a soft sigh and rested his chin on his hands. He blew a strand of hair that got in his eyes out of the way. The bus stopped a few more times, and the sight of a school with "Westerberg High" with those big plastic letters Jeremy saw outside movie theatres over the entrance came into view far too fast. Students were already milling about, laughing, talking, and generally enjoying themselves.

     Jeremy grimaced.

     There was the sound of backpacks being slung over shoulders and footfalls against metal as students got up to leave the bus. Jeremy did the same as the rest of them, slung one backpack strap over his shoulder, and joined the shuffling line that had formed inside the bus. He felt uncomfortable being pressed back-to-back with the other students, and the dread that he'd pushed to the back of his mind re-emerge. He resisted the urge to bite his lower lip and focused his eyes on the floor again. He heard scattered bits of conversation, most of which he ignored. 

     He shuffled off the bus, landed with as much grace as he could manage because the final step was a few inches above the ground, and looked around him. _They don't have any power over me,_ he reminded himself.

     Jeremy sidestepped the person who got off after him, and silently took a steadying breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there.
> 
> I know this has been done before - and probably by better authors to boot - but here's my shot at it.
> 
> With that out of the way, I’ll clarify some things about this fic. 
> 
> I’ll be ignoring the time difference between these two musicals. I’m also working under an AU where the musical ended in the exact opposite way, and Jeremy was socially isolated and people were bitter at him. Oh, and it didn’t work out with Christine, either.
> 
> Just hope that you enjoyed reading this. Any comments, kudos, or other things along those lines would make my day. ‘Till next time. - Raging Celiac.


	2. Welcome To Westerberg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mainly a world-building part (it had to be done at some point) but I think there's some decent foreshadowing in this... it might not be immediately obvious though.

**The more** Jeremy walked through the halls of Westerberg, the more he wanted to turn tail and go home.

     They were loud, for one thing. Louder than Middleborough by a long shot, and it seemed everyone was in direct competition with each other. Now that was true in Middleborough too, but it was normally hidden behind some type of veiled insult. But no. Here, it seemed, even the people who were very clearly social outcasts had some level of pride.

     He'd watched as a jock socked a lanky boy with oversized glasses in the gut, mock him for good measure, and saunter off. Then, as he saw a pretty-looking girl who wore a blue jacket and skirt carefully attempt to give the boy a hand, he swatted it away, shouting: 'Get away, nerd!' at her - despite the fact that when he'd fallen, a pack of Magic The Gathering cards had spilled out of his hands. It made Jeremy gawk for a moment. The girl had stuttered out something he thought was an okay afterward, but Jeremy had already torn himself away from the scene.

     Walking the halls, for Jeremy, was akin to navigating a minefield. Except the mines moved and talked and judged you. Avoiding one person? Easy. Two was harder, but far from Jeremy's limit. Three was beginning to push it, but he could do that too. Four? Close to his limit, and a tad straining, but not impossible. Then he saw a group of five students, all boys, wearing jackets with a large, outlined 'W' under the left breast pocket. They were all imposing, and laughed at a joke Jeremy caught but didn't understand. The first, and who Jeremy assumed to be the leader had a buzz cut and heavily calloused hands, and was as stocky as Jeremy was skinny. The boy to his left was built along the lines of Rich, while the boy to his right was tall, with a small smattering of beard hairs on his chin and the beginnings of a handlebar mustache. Jeremy flattened himself to the lockers closest to himself, sucking in a breath, and followed the group of five with rapt attention until they were out of earshot. Then he pushed himself off the lockers and began walking again.

     "Come on," one of them said. "You've been eyein' her for years; just ask her out, man!" The jock who had spoken had pointed to a good-looking girl down the hall with flowers in her hair, and Jeremy had to fight to keep himself still.

     After another five minutes, Jeremy found the locker he'd been assigned. It was in a shadowed corner that came straight out of a horror movie. The number above it read 1989, and it had a noticeable dent in it. He'd placed his hand on the dial of the locker's combination lock when he realized that he didn't know the actual combination. He stared at it for a moment, feeling panic rise in the back of his throat, then remembered that he'd printed it out from the Westerberg website only a week earlier. He'd unzipped his backpack and found the paper when a voice spoke up.

     "You don't need that, you know." Jeremy jumped, looking around, half-expecting to see a blue Keanu Reeves in the corner of his eye. Instead, though, he saw a lanky figure who stood at least a head taller than Jeremy did, who seemed to be wearing a black overcoat. Jeremy blinked several times, slowing his breath, and rose to his feet.

     "W-who're you?" he asked, more than a little nervous that someone had managed to sneak up on him. He heard a soft, mirthless laugh. Jeremy glanced over his shoulder, and saw that the hall was empty. He took the paper out carefully, ignoring how crumpled it was, all the while following the figure's movements.

     "Jason Dean, but I go by JD." Jeremy nodded, rising to his feet and extending a lightly shaking hand.

     "Jeremy Heere," he said, unable to completely stop the light trembling he was experiencing. Now that he had a good look at Jason, he'd realized that he was wearing a black trenchcoat. He couldn't make out the color of his eyes in the current light, but Jeremy didn't need to know that to know they were likely emotionless. Jason's hair looked black in the light, but the teen guessed it was actually dark brown. He turned slowly to his locker and put in the combination. He'd picked up his backpack again.

     "You don't need that," JD said again, to which Jeremy shook his head.

     "Need what? Where else am I supposed to put my stuff?"

     "That's not what I'm talking about." Jeremy shook his head again.

     "...Okay. Well, I gotta get to class, so I'll see you 'round I guess," JD nodded expressionlessly, and Jeremy shut his locker. He turned on his heel and began speed-walking toward his first period, a schedule clutched in his hands.

 

* * *

 

    

     Jeremy found his homeroom a few minutes later, silently praying the deodorant he'd put on was working, and pushed the door open. It made an obnoxious creaking noise and Jeremy cringed. Immediately he'd drawn the attention of the room.

     "Ah! Mr. Heere!" said a kindly-looking woman. She seemed full of energy despite the wrinkles on her face, and smiled at him with a mouth of pearly white teeth. Her hands were entwined in front of her waist, and she wore an antiquated skirt that reached her shins and a flower-patterned blouse.

     "I'm so glad you could make it! And not a second too late," the woman stopped speaking for a moment, and then the bell rang. "I'm Ms. Fleming. Find a seat, Mr. Heere, I was just telling the other new arrivals about how Westerberg works." Jeremy nodded, fighting down a blush while he found the desk that was farthest from the rest of the students in the room. Which was surprisingly difficult, as it seemed that before Jeremy had arrived they'd tried to do the same. After spending an inordinate amount of time deciding, he settled on a seat that was in the middle of the rows of desks - which numbered about two dozen but only housed six - right next to a boy wearing a black trenchcoat and with a head of dark brown hair. It would have appeared jet-black in the right light...

     Jeremy realized he'd chosen the seat closest to Jason Dean too late. He exchanged a sheepish glance with JD, who gave him a small wave. It was meant to be a friendly gesture, but there wasn't any actual _friendliness_ to it. Jeremy, though, returned it, albeit with some uncertainty.

     "Westerberg does not tolerate bullying, and has a zero-tolerance policy on the matter; if you are caught bullying another student, you will be subjected to a week's worth of detentions the first time, and a suspension on the third," Jeremy began to tune Ms. Fleming out, as did the other students in the room. One had even hidden a calculator under his desk and was playing games on it. Ms. Fleming went on to describe the rules on fighting, which were ditto to those of bullying, and of harassment. JD snorted quietly at all of her explanations. Jeremy had a hard time blaming him.

     Finally the bell for first period rang, snapping Jeremy out of a practiced trance that looked like he was paying attention when he was actually letting his mind drift.

     "That's it, kids! Follow those rules, and I'm sure you'll love it here!" JD snorted quietly again, and Jeremy filed Ms. Fleming's words into the sugar-coated-bullshit category. He collected his binder and exited the classroom with the rest of the new students.

     He did what he did to reach his locker again to reach his first period, though he had a call that was a bit too close for comfort with a group of three girls who reminded him of the power trio that was Chloe Valentine, Brooke Lohst, and Jenna Roland. They were talking amicably about some gossip Jeremy felt very lucky to have no stake in - like the aforementioned power trio. They also looked at him like he was a particularly stubborn and ugly stain on one of their favorite dresses - just like Chloe, Brooke, and Jenna.

     Jeremy joined the line outside room 318, the room of his first of his first period, and closed his eyes. Not much trouble so far. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad.

 

* * *

 

     He exited first period with a headache. His first period was Social Studies, and it turned out that they were discussing the Greeks and the Persians for their first unit. Jeremy found himself muttering where his history teacher, Mr. Krikor, could put his Greek epics under his breath as he exited the classroom. He was incredibly glad, however, that Mr. Krikor had confirmed that they wouldn't need their textbooks in class, because the thought of having to lug the volume his father had gotten from amazon three weeks prior made Jeremy blanch.

     He looked at his schedule. Next was math.

     Jeremy joined another line outside room 334, and he spent the spare five minutes he had (there was a student with a watch in front of him) trying to quell his boredom without attracting attention. He spent several seconds looking around before deciding to take a pencil out and roll it in between the finger so his free hand. That occupied him until the bell rang and the line shambled into the classroom.

     Inside a wizened man with a thin white beard sat behind a an oak desk, filing papers. He looked up as his students entered. A smile crossed his wrinkled face.

     "Welcome," he said wheezily. "I am Mr. Fedralson. I will be your algebra teacher this year; find a seat and open your planners." Jeremy, and the rest of his peers, internally sighed. They'd all had to get planners for this year, and while they all knew homework was a given in school, getting some first day left a sour taste in their mouths. Nonetheless, they did as they were told, and Jeremy quickly found a seat in the back of the room - which was really several feet away from the wall - and slid into it. He opened his planner and watched Mr. Fedralson pick up a stack of papers and stand up, hands shaking lightly. He looked around the room.

     "To start off, you will be taking a pre-test - don't worry, it's not graded," he said, and a student beside Jeremy - a girl who had spent the time Mr. Fedralson talking doodling in her planner - emitted a soft sigh of relief. Some students exchanged glances, but most just waited to get the pre-test with a large degree of boredom. Jeremy was among the latter group. "But first, write down the homework on the board." The students did so resignedly.

When Mr. Fedralson reached Jeremy's desk, he smiled down at the teen.

     "You're the new student, right?" he asked, voice sounding stretched. Jeremy nodded. Mr. Fedralson nodded.

     "Don't worry. Our curriculum shouldn't be too different from your old school's, but if you need any help, feel free to ask, okay?" Jeremy nodded. Mr. Fedralson put the pre-test on his desk and moved on to the rest of the room.

     As it turned out, Jeremy found himself doing okay on the pre-test. Not amazing, but comfortably in the mediocrity gradient he was used to. Turning it in, he noted how old-fashioned Mr. Fedralson's room was; there wasn't computer in it, just a black board, and the calculators looked to be straight out of the nineties. _Michael would like him,_ Jeremy thought.

   

* * *

 

     Jeremy's next two periods, Art and English, went without much drama, and he soon found himself at his locker again. He glanced around, looking for JD, and found nothing. Putting in the combination, Jeremy slid his binder inside and closed it. He looked around again. Nothing.

     The hallway was empty; devoid of people. It was in a secluded, shadowed corner. Dimly lit and isolated. Jeremy felt a bitter realization about how excellent a representation of his life it was hit him, and an equally bitter laugh escape him. No-one was around to even hear it, which Jeremy was glad for, because that laugh left him a tad uncomfortable.

     Jeremy only found other people after walking to the end of the hall and turning right, and repeated what he did at the beginning of the school day, slipping between groups of people with surprising limberness. He got a few second glances when he did something more notable, like when he slipped in between a gaggle of three girls who were built along the lines of cheerleaders without even brushing against any of them. Soon, though, he pushed open the doors to the cafeteria, and joined the line getting food. It was at least three-dozen strong, and Jeremy felt boredom clawing at him within moments. His shoulders nearly slumped, before he shot up like a rod, and accidentally bumped against the person in front of him.

     "Bah!"

     "S-sorry, didn't mean to-" Jeremy began, but the person had already turned away from him, and he fell silent. He shook his head.

     The line of students got longer even as other students got their food, and Jeremy counted at least ten newcomers to it as he picked up a lunch tray and held it out to a lunch worker, receiving a scoop of gooey mashed potatoes for his trouble. Used to such food, Jeremy didn't flinch when he also got a portion of lukewarm coleslaw, chicken, and a roll. Leaving the line, he looked around the lunchroom, looking for a seat, and moved aside for the person who was behind him. A few more moments of searching and after nearly tripping someone on accident, Jeremy found an open spot at a table near a group of geeky-looking students with the sun shining directly over it. Grimacing, he approached the table and slid into an open spot. Nobody noticed him.

     He ate his food in silence, and in relative peace, when he nearly flicked mashed potato in his face. The cafeteria doors banged open, revealing a group of jocks who parted for  three girls, each wearing a skirt and top that matched in color - common enough - but also a scrunchie. The one who stood in the middle of the other two, and who Jeremy guessed was the leader, wore a beat-red scrunchie and stood tall, with golden blonde hair and an arrogant sneer across her pretty face. The one to red-scrunchie's left had orange hair, which Jeremy noted with some surprise, and wore a bright yellow scrunchie. The girl to red-scrunchie's right wore a turquoise-colored scrunchie that held back shoulder-length brown hair. The geeks at Jeremy's table looked up, and seemed entranced by red-scrunchie, whilst Jeremy shrugged and went back to his food. He already got that "They-are-popular-and-look-down-on-you" vibe from them that he'd been on the receiving end of back at Middle Borough. As they walked over to an empty table - students frantically getting out of their seats at it as they did - Jeremy made a resolute promise to himself to not pick a bone with them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. Hope you enjoyed this chapter - even if much of it was set-up and world-building.
> 
> I really don't have much to say this time around... nothing to clarify... yeah. I just hope you think this chapter is worth a comment, kudo, or bookmark. Till next time. - Raging Celiac.


	3. You Need Comfort Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the slight against Chandler and a proper introduction to JD's character in the simplest terms. Hope you enjoy it.

**Jeremy sighed** as he collected his things. It wasn't the sad, depressed kind - it was the type that can only come from a long workout. The kind indicative of someone who is least likely to do a 4k run.

     The teen found that his first week had been more exhaustive than he'd expected. The SQUIP, he knew, had royally screwed with his head. It didn't help that its after effects still lingered. Oh, it was off, but recovery wasn't easy. Michael, even though he picked up Nicole as a girlfriend, still found time to serve as Jeremy's de facto therapist and help him rebuild emotionally. Christine had been instrumental as well, even after their relationship fell through. But they weren't here right now, and Christine had moved on and begun dating Jake again a few weeks after she was single once more, and hadn't talked to him for months. Then Jeremy had moved away from Michael, and the following thirty days had been characterized by Jeremy holing up in his room and brooding.

     He'd kept himself together by sheer force of will, but if the past five days were an indicative sample, Jeremy doubted that something wouldn't give eventually. All of this was compounded the by the fact that he'd made approximately zero friends, too. No-one had really noticed him - bar JD, of course, but he could do without him - and as such Jeremy never found a reason to talk to anybody.

     Was that worrying? Probably, Jeremy decided, but he'd gotten himself into this situation, so who was he to complain? He'd nearly destroyed Middleborough; who was he to complain if people didn't take to him as much after he'd nearly gotten all of them trapped in a hivemind?

     The teen shook his head. Dwelling on stuff he couldn't change wouldn't get him anywhere.

     Jeremy turned the corner that he'd come to associate with a rush of social anxiety that marked where he exited isolation and joined the rest of Westerberg. The following hall was something he'd learned to navigate effortlessly over the past week. Despite how crowded it was, Jeremy found his openings. A few second glances were something he was used to by this point, and he ignored how many of the opposite gender looked at him with disgust. Then his phone vibrated in his pocket.

     Jeremy took it out of his pocket, seeing the face of Michael Mell, glasses, headphones and all, grinning up at him. Jeremy felt a small twinge of nostalgia as he answered the call.

     "Yo." he said, sidestepping a long-legged student who looked like he'd be at home at a track meet. He heard a small amount of static from the other end.

 _"Hey. Just got out of art. How was your first week, sport?"_ Michael responded cheerfully, and Jeremy shook his head at the pet name.

     "You're not my dad," he began, turning right around a corner and jumping back a pace as a boy carrying a book labeled: 'A Dungeon Master's Guide for Beginners' nearly bumped into him. "But it was decent." Jeremy heard a small chuckle from Michael's end.

 _"_ _Really? No wedgies? Getting called gay?"_ Jeremy smiled slightly.

     "No. And I'm not the one whose bi here," he quipped. The teen maneuvered around a group of giggling junior girls, and a moment after he did so, Jeremy felt their collective gaze find his back. He ignored them and turned another corner.

 _"_ _Yeah. I guess,but hey, I have the girlfriend here."_ Jeremy snorted with some bitterness but nodded nonetheless.

     "You do. How is it going, by the way?" he asked as he spun out of the way of two skinny freshman. They stared at him in amazement for a moment as he passed them.

 _"_ _Great!"_ Michael said. He sounded so happy, Jeremy thought wistfully. _"_ _She introduced to all her girlfriends, man. They were really nice, too!"_ Michael gushed. Jeremy felt some small amount of jealousy begin to form in his gut.

     "That sounds great, man," he responded, striving hard to keep his voice from sounding not-depressed. A moment later, he saw the jock who'd been encouraged to ask flower-hair girl out on his first day was now walking beside her, gripping her smaller hand in his large, calloused one. Jeremy kept his eyes firmly directed toward the ground, wondering if Michael had been like that jock, walking the halls. Never fearing that he might be noticed and targeted by bullies, or that he'd be called gay; walking side-by-side with someone who cared about him...

     Jeremy shook his head, ducking into the gap between two sections of lockers as a group of five reedy boys, all of whom wore thick-rimmed glasses, talked amiably about some fantasy series Jeremy didn't recognize. He sucked in breath, ignoring the scandalized looks he got from a pair of girls who were gossiping in front of a locker to his right.

 _"_ _Jer?"_ Michael's voice came in his ear, _"_ _You there?"_ Jeremy didn't respond, as he saw more people down the hall. Phone still pressed to his ear, he sidestepped and then twirled past a gaggle of three students - one girl and two boys - who were so immersed in their conversation that they didn't notice him. Jeremy could make out the entrance to Westerberg now. 

     "You know, Heather, you might be onto something," Came a lofty voice, "with all your vomiting, finding someone who can forge hallpasses wouldn't be a bad idea. It'd get us out of gym, anyway." 

     The Heathers. Oh, joy. Jeremy had avoided them so far, but their personalities were clear to him; Chandler was the gleeful asshole of them, McNamara was the sycophant who Jeremy seriously suspected was on something at times, and Duke was jerk number two, a-hole boogaloo. The fact that they collectively managed to act worse than Chloe's clique of five had impressed Jeremy in a twisted sort of way; it took a special kind of mean to slap someone in front of an entire lunchroom, stain their shirt, then call a teacher and say they'd started it - let alone to get away with something like that. Which Chandler did, in the end. In sum, the Heathers were like radioactive thorn bushes; nice to look at, maybe, if they weren't pointy and harmful to everything around them on principle.

 _"_ _Jer?"_ Michael repeated, interpreting Jeremy's silence to mean something had gone wrong. _"_ _You th-"_ Jeremy cut the call short, and saw the Heathers appear out of the crowd of students vying for escape from Westerberg. He heard a honk. _The buses are leaving,_ he realized worriedly. To get to through the entrance before his bus left, he realised that he'd need to make it past them. Internally gritting his teeth, Jeremy began to make his way to the door.

     He was very aware of his shoes' clacking against the linoleum of the hall's floor as he made his way closer to the Heathers. He brushed shoulders with a student and they looked up, seeing Jeremy do something similar with another student, and another.... the path he was taking was putting him perilously close to the Heathers. The student shook his head, thinking Jeremy a fool and looked back down at his phone.

     Jeremy found himself nearly tripping over feet at some points, but soon he had gotten to the clearing in the crowd the Heathers had created. He needed to get to his bus. Now.

     With every part of his logical mind shouting at him to turn back, Jeremy entered the clearing, with several pairs of eyes glued to him and whispers spreading through the crowd. Jeremy ignored them all, fighting his nerves as he slipped through a gap between Heathers Chandler and Duke, who stopped their conversation dead when he did so. They looked at the spot where Jeremy had been, and then at the retreating, lanky outline that was speed-walking away from them.

     "And who would you be?" Chandler asked, to which Jeremy's movements stopped for a moment. A devilish smirk crossed her face, and she placed her hands on her hips. "You're an idiot, but at least you have guts. That's more than most losers can say..." Chandler trailed off, as Jeremy's back got smaller. Her eyes flashed dangerously. _Don't let them rope you in,_ Jeremy thought. _That's how they get them to notice you._

     "Are you even listening to me?" Chandler demanded, speeding forward and grabbing Jeremy's arm. Jeremy, though, twisted out of her grip before she could continue talking, and the crowd of students around the Heathers fell completely silent. Students exchanged amazed glances, and they watched as Heather Chandler took another step in Jeremy's direction. But reedy, geeky first-week Jeremy Heere had begun walking again. Chandler matched him step-for-step for a moment, before Jeremy increased his pace. Chandler glared, huffed, sped up, and managed to get ahold of his arm again. She spun Jeremy around to face her, eliciting a "Gah!" in the process, seeing his face had gone as red as a tomato. His blue eyes, full of nervousness, stared back at her, wide as dinner plates.

     "You just thought you could do that, didn't you?" Chandler asked, still smirking but there was a definite edge to her voice. Jeremy's eyes darted around, seeing one bus leave, and another close it's doors. He squirmed, attempting to wriggle out of Chandler's grip. She chuckled, and tilted her head to the side. Somehow, Jeremy got more uncomfortable. How someone managed to analyze and patronize you at the same time, Jeremy did not know.

     "I'm guessing you're new here," she said, leaning forward. He could make out her teeth; in an odd irony, they were as pearly Ms. Fleming's, causing Jeremy to feel a sudden (And very stupid) urge to snicker. The teen could make out the fine, immaculately-done edges of her black eyelashes. With the way Chandler was looking at him, Jeremy thought they were far more talon-like than pretty. "because everybody else here wouldn't try to pull that little _stunt_ ," Jeremy shivered as she spoke, leaning his head back.

    "Normally I'd slap your face off," she continued, a thoughtful pout tugging at her mouth. "And everyone here could watch." Chandler gestured around her, and Jeremy saw Duke and McNamara fan out to his right and left. Another bus drove off. He wriggled again. Chandler dug her nails in once more.

    "But I'm feeling nice today," she said, smirking again. Jeremy leaned his head back so far he had to put a foot behind him to not fall over. The only problem, of course, was that his alternative was sticking around while Chandler gave her speech, which Jeremy liked about as much as falling over. "So I'll give you a choice."

     Chandler's expression turned wolfish. 

     "You could either get on your knees in front of everybody and beg for forgiveness," Jeremy stiffened at that, and Chandler dug her nails in even more. Jeremy winced. "Or I could get Kurt and Ram to teach you what happens to people who don't have respect." Those choices were about as appealing as choosing between cyanide and drinking drain cleaner, Jeremy decided. Chandler expectantly waited. Two more buses drove off. Jeremy glanced behind him and saw his begin to rev up. It was now or begging for forgiveness, and Jeremy made his choice. 

     He threw himself back as hard as he could manage, pulling Chandler down with him. Her eyes shot wide, and she shrieked. Jeremy grunted as he fell onto his backpack. Chandler's grip slackened on his arm just long enough for Jeremy to get free, push her off of him, and scramble to his feet. Duke and McNamara were ogling at him as if he'd just risen from the grave. Jeremy spun around before he could start to stutter something even more embarrassing. He sprinted to his bus, the driver opening the door for him at the last second. He breathlessly climbed the stairs, found a seat in the back, and flopped down. He scooted over to the window, seeing Chandler be helped up by Duke and McNamara she glared at him through the window.

    So much for laying low.

 

* * *

 

     Jeremy got on the bus, his heart still racing, face still red, and his arm stinging slightly from where Heather Chandler had decided to dig her nails in. The bus driver gave him a surprised look for a moment, but soon turned away. The bus was utterly silent.

     Jeremy, with considerable self-consciousness, found a seat on his bus and sunk into it, closed his eyes, and sighed heavily. What was that promise he made to himself on his first day? Jeremy pressed the palm of his hand to his face.

     He'd just made a mistake, he knew. He'd just kicked the hornet's nest and now they would surely be after him. This hornet's nest, however, was a group of girls who likely connections to seven and eighteen year-olds with a lot of testosterone and egos equal to their muscle mass.

     Jeremy grimaced.

     He glanced out the window, seeing student scramble onto buses, talking and whispering the entire time. Jeremy sighed again.

     He turned his phone on and called Michael. Within moments his best friend's voice rang in his ear.

 _"_ _Yo, Jer - what happened? You space out or something?"_ Jeremy sighed heavily.

     "I just pissed off the most popular girl in my school, Mike." there was silence for half a minute. Jeremy felt eyes on him, and turned to face the window.

 _"_ _Oh."_ Michael responded. Jeremy put his head in his free hand.

     "I have two days to live, don't I?" he said, glumly. Jeremy ignored them.

 _"E_ _r,"_ Michael began. " _No..?"_ Jeremy sighed.

     "It's been great knowing you." he said. He cut the call short again and sighed moodily.

     The rest of the bus ride was uneventful (aside, of course, from the pairs of eyes that studied Jeremy's back) and he was more glad than he should have been to see the beaten-up bench and concrete that marked his stop. He got up, slung his backpack over his shoulders, and got off the bus, which was silent within moments of his moving.

     But when he got off, however, the doors didn't immediately close and the bus didn't speed off right away. Instead, Jeremy turned to see a tall, dark-haired teen in a black trenchcoat exit, a stained khaki backpack slung over his shoulders. Jeremy froze.

     "That was one impressive show," JD said, grinning. Jeremy looked at the ground.

     "I'll be dead by next Friday," he mumbled, beginning to turn away. "But thanks anyways." JD shook his head, messy hair flying about.

     "Dude, that was awesome!" he said, grining. Jeremy froze.

     "What?" JD's smile got wider.

     "What you just did hasn't been done before. Did you _see_ Chandler's face? She was so pissed!" he cackled. Jeremy looked slightly alarmed at the normally apathetic JD showing so much emotion.

     "I just needed to catch my bus," Jeremy said quietly, to which JD, after taking a few deep breaths chuckled.

     "It doesn't matter now," he said, giving Jeremy a pointed look. "What you did was proper slap to Chandler's ego. No-one's had the guts to do that, you know." Jeremy blushed, looking, somehow, more sheepish.

     "R-really?" he asked. JD nodded enthusiastically.

     " _Yes_ ," he said, stepping toward Jeremy. The latter of the two took one pace backward. "Isn't it clear?" Jeremy shook his head. JD sighed theatrically.

     "Look, you're a loser in this school. You don't have any friends, you're ignored by everybody, and aside from your skill in being antisocial you just took the Queen Bee and said: 'I don't give a fuck who you are,' to them. You're a beacon of light now. People will think you're brave, and that it was intentionally insulting towards Chandler," JD said. By that point the bus had left them, but Jeremy was sure that they'd seen JD talking to him.

     "You'll be a goddamned martyr!" Jeremy felt a weak sarcasm come over him.

     "So I will be dead by next Friday?" he quipped quietly. JD laughed.

     "Not if I have anything to say about it," Jeremy detected a small amount of ominousness in JD's voice. "But right now, I think you need some comfort food." Jeremy nodded.

     "There's a Seven-Eleven near here," JD said, turning around. Jeremy blinked.

     "I have to see my dad..." he said, to which JD waved a hand.

     "It won't take more than fifteen minutes. And besides, you've earned it." JD began walking again, and Jeremy, in spite of his uncertainties, found himself following. JD walked mechanically, and Jeremy followed him in an identical fashion, until the taller teen turned left off the sidewalk and toward a rusty gate. Behind it was densely-packed brush, and JD had pushed the gate open and even took a step inside the brush before realizing that Jeremy had stopped walking.

     "You coming?" he asked, looking puzzled. Jeremy averted eye contact.

     "I-it's just that following a stranger in a trenchcoat into a forest when nobody knows I'm there seems like a bad idea." JD chuckled.

     "That's it?" Jeremy looked up. "You're a funny one, ya know that?" the shorter teen felt another blush coming on.

     "I'm not armed, if you're worried about that sort of thing." JD said, and after a moment added: "I don't swing that way either." Jeremy looked around again, uncertainty written across his face. He frowned for several moments before nodding.

     "Lead the way," he said. JD smirked a bit.

     "You won't be disappointed," he said, and Jeremy followed him into the forest.

     JD lead him through it, and Jeremy, having never properly explored something like a forest, was in slight awe the entire time. Except, of course, when a spider lowering itself to the ground accidentally landed on his face. Jeremy had squeaked, flailed for a moment, and then stomped on the spider with all his might. JD had an amused expression on his face when Jeremy had recovered, which served as the inciting incident for the letter slugging the former in the arm.

     Finally, after shaking another cobweb off his hands, Jeremy found himself and JD looking at the back of a Seven-Eleven. A dumpster, reeking of trash and filled with empty slushie cups, had been placed only a few feet to the left from the backdoor of the building. JD lead Jeremy around to the front of the Seven-Eleven.

     "Are you disappointed?" he asked, gesturing to the 7-11. Jeremy frowned in mock-thought.

     "I have cobwebs in my hair, I'm sweaty as can be, and I'll be dead by next Friday; and I'm at Seven-Eleven with someone I only just met a few days ago. Nope. I'm not disappointed." Jeremy said, a small smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. JD chuckled again.

     "It's a small place, but almost no-one at Westerberg actually goes to it," Jeremy's face lit up slightly, "so we basically have it to ourselves."

     "Nope," Jeremy responded, smiling. "Not disappointed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was chapter three. I don't have much to say, again, but I hope you considered this good enough for a kudo, comment, or a bookmark. See you in chapter 4. - Raging Celiac


	4. A Week Too Sapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy goes home to his father and tries to get ahold of Michael on Skype.

     

 **"** **Where'd you** go before you arrived in this lovely town?" JD asked, gesturing around him broadly. They were in front the 7-11. A road, weathered and with faded asphalt, was to Jeremy's right. The sky was still a depressing gray, and aside from the small bit of brush behind the store, there wasn't any else nearby.

     "Middleborough high school," Jeremy said as he followed JD inside the 7-11. The automatic door slid past smoothly, and Jeremy immediately felt a pleasant difference in temperature. the cashier, a boy whose face was heavily covered in pimples, looked up as they entered. His eyes traveled to JD, then lazily flicked over to Jeremy's form. He looked away immediately afterward though, going back to the book he'd set next to the register.

     "Aren't they not supposed to do that?" Jeremy asked JD in a whisper. The taller teen shrugged.

     "He's in College," he said, equally quiet. "And honestly, he's reading so much that I can get seconds and thirds and he doesn't notice." Jeremy looked back at the cashier, who was sitting down in a fold-out, rickety IKEA chair with his nose buried in a hardcover book. Jeremy made out the words 'Fifty Shades of Grey' on the spine and quickly turned his snort into a hacking cough. JD smirked.

     "See? He's reading," he whispered, though he too had a small smirk across his face. JD approached a slushie machine in the back-left corner of the 7-11, and Jeremy noted then that he was wearing black boots instead of sneakers. He fought down his snort this time.

     Jeremy stayed in step with JD until they reached the slushie machine.

     "I normally stay away from that kind of stuff," he said, and he put the cup the taller teen had handed him back. "I have a... figure to maintain." JD looked him over, shook his head, and proceeded to fill his cup to the brim with red slush.

     "Whatever you say," he said through chuckles. Jeremy smiled sheepishly, and went into one of the isles. They were fully-stocked, with it seeming to be that case that nothing had been moved off them for a while. He even found a bag of Doritos that had an expiration date from the previous year on it. _He wasn't kidding,_ Jeremy thought with some amazement.

     The 7-11 that had been near him was in a prime spot by the side of the road near a plaza near Middleborough, and as such it's clientele were mainly students. Which meant that Jeremy and Michael had to be mindful of when they shopped there. But here... the place was practically untouched!

     Jeremy's small excitement faded however when he glanced over at the freezers; inside were the typical stock of sodas and whatnot - sprite, and the like - but also an entire, full row of mountain dew bottles with signature neon green liquid. Jeremy felt something in his stomach drop. A moment later he heard the sound of leather slapping against linoleum and shook his head. _It's just a soda,_ he chided himself. Jeremy turned around to see JD walking down the aisle from the opposite end, slushie clutched tightly in his hand. Jeremy quickly nabbed a bag of lays off the shelves.

     "If Mike saw you, he'd crucify me." Jeremy said, hoping JD didn't see him staring at the mountain dew, which caused JD to stop sucking on his straw.

     "'Mike'?" he asked, bemused. Jeremy shook his head.

     "Sorry," he said quickly. "Michael, he's a friend from my old school. I call him Mike." JD's eyes narrowed slightly.

     "So you _do_ have a friend," he said, a bit of playfulness in his voice. Jeremy nodded, glumness washing over him.

     "Yeah... he's just in New Jersey..." he trailed off, voice dying in his throat after a moment. JD looked at him again.

     "Sorry to hear that," he said tonelessly. "What was he like?"

     "Best person I've ever met," Jeremy answered promptly. "Into the same things I'm into, nice, doesn't care if I don't change my shirt for a few days..." he felt a blush coming on. JD shook his head.

     "You do that?" Jeremy closed his mouth, feeling his blush deepen. 

     "Um... yeah. I - er - forget sometimes," he looked down, biting his lower lip and JD shrugged.

     "Don't worry about it," the taller teen said, "my dad does it all the time." Jeremy's head shot up.

     "Your dad?" he asked. JD's eyes darkened.

     "If he can be called that," he said, a note of bitterness in his voice. "The bastard." He added under his breath. Jeremy, having only heard the first part, inquired further.

     "How bad is he?" said Jeremy inquisitively. JD's eyes got darker and he took a small step back.

     "Bad enough that this is my tenth high school." Jeremy blinked. Your dad couldn't get you expelled, could he? JD seemed to read Jeremy's mind, though, and clarified.

     "He runs a _de_ construction company," he explained. "It's small so he has to move with it to where business is good."

     "That must suck for finding friends," Jeremy said, then promptly smacked himself internally. JD looked him over with piercing eyes for a moment.

     "It does," he responded. "I don't stay in the same place for more than a few weeks. My dad keeps two suitcases always packed, just in case a new opportunity pops up."

     "Damn," was all Jeremy could manage to say. He thought moving once was terrible, but JD's dad kept two suitcases _always_ packed? "I-I'm sorry I can't really-" JD took a loud sip of his slushie, effectively cutting Jeremy off.

     "It's nothing," he shrugged again. "Come on, I think we should leave. He normally doesn't like me staying for more than thirty minutes." Jeremy nodded. _Probably scares away customers,_ he thought. _But that's assuming that this place_ get's _customers._

     Jeremy followed JD to the counter, where the cashier had disappeared. Jeremy's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair.

     "Is he..?" the teen began, only to be cut off by JD, who laughed.

     "Yep." Jeremy looked at where the cashier had been. He mouthed 'What the fuck?', which caused JD to laugh again. Jeremy dug into his pockets, withdrawing five heavily crinkled dollars. He set the bills on the counter and followed JD outside.

     He was sipping from his slushie at a dangerous pace. Brain-freeze pace. Jeremy had just opened his mouth when JD's formed into a grimace. For a few moments he was silent and closed his eyes, but then the taller teen tossed his now-empty slushie in the nearest trashcan.

     "Thanks for showing me this," Jeremy said sheepishly. "The old one I used to go to was always full of... uh...."

     "Assholes?" JD filled in. Jeremy nodded.

     "I'm feeling a bit better now, even if I'm still on death row." he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, and opened his bag of chips.

     "Let them try," JD said, his tone dark. Jeremy's thankfulness and sheepishness turned into alarm. _Let them try?_  

     "Um - er - no. You don't have to-" Jeremy stammered, but JD shook his head.

     "You did a good thing today, man, and if anybody wants to punish you for it, they go through me." he crossed his arms, preening slightly, and Jeremy felt his face going red again.

     "No - erm - you really don't have to-" Jeremy started, but JD cut him off again.

     "I do. Because everyone will talk about it, but no-one will defend you. I've seen too many people like you stand up, get beat up, and then never stand up again." JD gave Jeremy a look that bordered on admiration. "And, honestly, this place needs people like you," Jeremy's blush was full-blown now, and he realized from the look on JD's face that he wasn't going to change his mind.

     "Okay..." he mumbled, then he shook his head very fast. "Um, I need to get back home. Could you, uh, lead me back?" JD nodded.

     "No problem."

 

* * *

 

     Jeremy arrived to his townhouse with a small amount of dread in his gut regarding his father's reaction. He slid his key out of his pocket and put it in the lock, twisting and taking a deep breath as he did so. He pushed the door open.

     His father sat in the living room, on the couch, a new laptop he'd bought for work in his lap while the news played in the background. He looked up as Jeremy entered.

     "There you are!" he said, folding and setting his laptop next to his spot on the couch. Jeremy braced for the inevitable barrage of questions that were going to come his way; he'd checked his phone when he got back to his bus stop and found that it was four-thirty. _Before_ he actually walked back. His eyes traveled to the digital clock built into their microwave in the open-air kitchen they had: it read five o'clock. Jeremy cringed.

     "Sorry I'm late," he said, "I..." how _was_ he going to tell his dad what had happened? 'Hey, dad, I kinda pissed off the most popular girl in my new school and then walked through the woods alone with some emo kid and went to a Seven-eleven!' Jeremy closed his eyes.

     "It's a long story," Jeremy sighed, waving his arms apologetically. "Can we take this into the kitchen?" Mr. Heere looked his son up and down, and Jeremy felt the same pierce JD's eyes had seemed to have.

     "Okay," Mr. Heere said carefully. His expression was the type of neutral all parents seem to master using when they were suspicious of their child. It made Jeremy sweat. By the time he'd reached the kitchen table, his face was getting his special brand of nervous raspberry. Mr. Heere raised a brow. He slid into a wooden seat across from his son, who by that point was running his hands through his hair. Jeremy took a breath.

 

* * *

 

 

     "That's it?" Mr. Heere asked incredulously after Jeremy had explained everything. His son blinked at the blasé attitude toward what he considered deadly serious mistakes, but nodded. Mr. Heere smiled, got up, and placed a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. The warmth his father's hand provided was offset for Jeremy by how similar it was to what the SQUIP would often do.

     "Jeremy, that boy you met was right," Mr. Heere said, squeezing Jeremy's shoulder. "You did a good thing, even if it'll cost you socially." Jeremy shook his head, however.

     "I pissed off the most popular person in my school!" he said, shaking off Mr. Heere's hand. "In the first week!" Jeremy held his head in his hands again.

     "They have control of the football team! They'll beat me so bad I'll be wearing casts for weeks!" at this Mr. Heere pulled Jeremy out of his seat by his shoulders, and gave his son an exasperated look.

     "No, they won't," he said, to which Jeremy shook his head again.

     "They will! Chloe Valentine did all the goddamn time!" said Jeremy, squirming in his father's grip. Mr. Heere, however, looked alarmed.

     "And you never reported it?" he asked, horrified. Jeremy's eyes widened, and internally he screamed at himself for being so stupid; he never told his father when Middleborough's football team decided he was to be used as a punching bag. He looked at the floor.

     "Yes," he mumbled. Mr. Heere took his hands off Jeremy's shoulders and used his now-free arms to hold his son to his chest.

     "Why?" he asked softly, running a hand through his son's hair. Jeremy stiffened at the contact, but responded nonetheless.

     "They said if I reported it they;d beat me up again," he said quietly. Mr. Heere stepped back, and gripped Jeremy's shoulders again.

     "Son, look at me," he said. Jeremy finally made eye contact. "I wish you'd told me this earlier, and even more when it was recent, but if this girl tries to do that, talk to me, okay?" Mr. Heere said, pulling his son in for another hug. It lasted a few seconds before he released Jeremy.

     "You hungry?" asked Mr. Heere, going over to the fridge and opening it with a scrutinizing eye.

     "Not really," Jeremy responded, remembering his bag of lays. Mr. Heere nodded absentmindedly.

     "Okay. Jeremy, but if you need something, tell me." Jeremy gave a 'Yes' in response and headed to his room. He set his backpack down on his bed and contemplated grabbing his Gameboy color, and decided that he needed to talk to someone who wasn't hopelessly emo or who he thought didn't know how modern teens worked.

     Jeremy flopped into a black revolving chair that sat before his room's desk and opened his MacBook pro. He found the skype app and reached inside a desk drawer, withdrawing a pair of headphones with a microphone. Skype opened and he selected his only contact, labeled 'Playertwo'. Jeremy leaned back in his seat for a few moments, blowing some hair out of his eyes as he waited for Michael to respond. A minute passed.

    Jeremy called a few more times, exasperation increasing with each try, but got nothing in the end. Next he tried Michael's actual phone, but got directed to voicemail each time. He looked around his room. The clock next to his MacBook read five ten. Jeremy sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes, at last giving in to his impatience and deciding to find his Gameboy color.

     He found it in a cardboard box in his closet, which was much smaller than his last, and took it out; it was green and bulky, and Jeremy had found it nearly broken in a garage sale a few years prior. Him and Michael, however, were nothing but determined, and a month later it was working to T. Jeremy smiled a bit at the memory.

     He picked up the old thing and his smiled faded. Jeremy glanced out his window, feeling exhausted. For a moment he considered. Soft, warm bed, or pokemon? After several moments of frowning, Jeremy put the handheld back into its box. The Gameboy could wait, he decided. The day had been far too tiring; the week one massive sap of energy. Jeremy and carefully placed the Gameboy color back in it's box, and got to his feet, only to lay down on his bed a few moments later. He was vaguely aware that it wasn't even seven- or, hell, - even eight; his eyes found the digital clock next to his MacBook, which was still open, and saw that seven minutes had passed. He shook his head.

     After squirming around for several moments as he tried to get comfortable, Jeremy fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was chapter four. One note: every chapter so far has been pre-written, so it might be a bit before the next chapter is out.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it enough to warrant a kudo, comment, or, really, anything. :) Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	5. You Just Might Have One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeremy finally just might find companionship... in the most trench-coaty of places.

      **Jeremy awoke** to blackness. He felt an intense vibration in his pocket, and rolled over. 

     He was met with slightly less blackness. 

     The teen's eyes drifted to the only light source in his room, his digital clock, and it read nine thirty PM. He shook his head, untidying his hair even more, and slid his phone out of his pocket. Jeremy immediately shut his eyes at the brightness of his phone, flinching back before opening his eyes just long enough to accept Michael's call. 

      _"Yo, Jer,"_ Michael's voice seemed to ring in Jeremy's head,  _"Sorry about not answering your calls. Nicole decided that a movie was in order."_

     "When?" Jeremy asked, more irritation in his tone than he'd've liked. There was a short silence. 

      _"Um... seven?"_ Michael answered uncertainly. Jeremy chuckled a bit. Michael hastily added to his answer.  _"We went to her house after school ended."_ Jeremy was sitting up now, and was smirking. 

     "I'm sure you two were very busy," he said. Though it was meant as a joke, something in Jeremy ached at the thought of how enjoyable Michael's life had become. 

      _"Shut up."_ Michael snapped back, and Jeremy just knew that he was blushing hard at that moment. 

     "Not a problem," he said. "If anybody deserves to have someone like Nicole, it's you." There was silence from Michael's end. 

      _"Anyway, why'd you call?"_ he asked. 

     "It's a long story," Jeremy said, sighing heavily. 

     "You know how I pissed off the most popular person in my school?" Jeremy asked. There was a heavily distorted 'Um-hm' came from Michael's end and Jeremy rubbed his temple. "I kinda, sorta... walked in the woods alone with an emo kid to a Seven-Eleven after that. And I didn't call my dad either." 

      _"That was stupid,"_ Michael said, and Jeremy nodded. 

     "My dad said the same thing," he responded sadly. The teen expected some quip to follow this, or even to hear a chuckle, but he was met with silence. 

      _"Look, man, my Mom's gonna head upstairs soon... so I have to leave this hanging,"_ Michael said apologehtically.  _"Continue this tomorrow?"_ Jeremy shrugged. 

     "Sure thing. Night." he said tonelessly. 

      _"I'm sorry,"_ Michael said, and then the call ended. Jeremy found himself sitting there for several moments, upright, and finding that something inside him was writhing. 

     If Nicole hadn't been there, he could've discussed his feelings with Michael; if she wasn't there, he might've picked up when Jeremy called him on skype; could've answered Jeremy's calls. But he hadn't. He hadn't...

      _No,_ Jeremy thought. He'd had this conversation with himself over and over again after Michael and Nicole had gotten together, and he always came to the same end conclusion each time:

     He didn't have a right to complain. 

     The teen rubbed his eyes, yawning loudly, and he felt a small amount of water in his eyes. He rubbed them again, and leaned back. Within minutes he had fallen back asleep.

 

* * *

     

     Jeremy groaned softly as a high-pitched beeping reached his ears. It was sharp, and not a moment later it was louder. And then a second after, it increased in pitch once more. 

     Jeremy rolled over, his eyes meeting the tan-colored ceiling of his room. His room was lit with soft early-morning light that cam through a window on the far wall, which let in light to hit his desk and reflect off the plastic screen of his digital clock, but only managed to reach the end of Jeremy's bed, leaving the teen in semidarkness. The beeping got louder. 

     Covering his ears with the ends of his pillow, Jeremy turned to face his sheets again. The beeping continued on, getting even higher in pitch before Jeremy finally rolled over and kicked his covers off his body, threw his legs over the side, and stretched. He let out an obnoxiously loud yawn, and got to his feet. 

     Blearily, Jeremy staggered over to his desk, and slammed the palm of his hand down on the digital clock. The beeping ceased, and Jeremy held his head for a few moments before yawning again. It was quieter this time around, and Jeremy appreciated that fact, because his alarm left him what felt like a splitting headache. Running a hand through his messy brown waves, the teen approached his door and pushed it open. 

     With much grogginess, he got to his bathroom, which he shared with his father. Thankfully, he didn't hear any sounds of running water, and no light came under the door. With sloth-like steps, Jeremy went up to the door and pushed it open, then entered the bathroom. It was tiled, but in that second-rate way that you see in the more dingy neighborhoods. There was a small amount of grout visible between the tiles, and the walls and ceiling were the same shade of dull khaki. The tiles were ditto, making the room appear to Jeremy's not-fully-there mind as a massive tan box. 

     Jeremy approached the sink, which was to his right, and looked in the mirror; his hair was in messy disarray - as Jeremy expected - and his bed head was complemented with a bit more facial hair than was acceptable. Even in his current state, Jeremy understood that just-woken-up people and razors is an idea that belongs squarely in the 'You Are an Idiot' bin of ideas and instead stripped himself of his clothes and tossed them in the far-left corner of the bathroom. He entered the shower that stood at the other end of the bathroom, and the tub stretched nearly the length of the room, with it only a few inches from the wall on each end. Jeremy slid the red-spotted curtain past and felt his feet touch the cold surface of the tub and turned the shower on, flinching slightly as it hit him.

     A few minutes and several minutes of washing his hair later, Jeremy exited the shower, dripping from head to toe, and grabbed a towel off the edge of the sink, and wrapped it around his body. It didn't cover his entire surface area, of course, (because when would something have any reason to work for Jeremy?) but it did enough, and soon he'd donned his clothes from the previous day. Jeremy shaved quickly, and left the bathroom, feeling more awake.

     Letting out a final yawn and stretching one more time, Jeremy went into his townhouse's open-air kitchen. His father looked up from his morning newspaper and coffee.

     "Hey," he said cheerfully, "how'd you sleep?" Jeremy rubbed his eyes for a moment, and his father chuckled. 

    "Well, then." Jeremy shook his head feebly, and approached the fridge, opening the door. He was met with a small blast of cold, and noted that it seemed a tad sparse, then withdrew a carton of milk. He closed the door and then grabbed a box of cereal from a shelf above the fridge, doing so easily. He set both the milk and cereal down on the small, round kitchen table his dad had bought from IKEA three weeks prior and got a floral-patterned bowl out. A memory flickered in his mind, only to be quashed shortly after with a shake of his head. 

     Jeremy poured cereal into his bowl and followed it up with milk. He was halfway through the bowl when his father looked up from his paper again. 

     "The fridge has seemed pretty empty lately," he said, putting his coffee down on the table. "I think we should head to the grocery store today, son. You know, just the two of us? We could pick up pizza after," Mr. Heere said, and Jeremy's blood went cold. The last thing he considered to be smart at the moment was going to a public place, considering that he had one massive target painted across his back at the moment. But he also doubted that his father would let him stay home, either. 

     With some small amount of dread in his stomach, Jeremy nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on his cereal. 

 

* * *

 

     The grocery store was in the middle of the local plaza, and Jeremy was scanning the crowd constantly, biting back his anxiety with will power alone. People milled about, but thankfully most of these people were adults, who went about their shopping in frowning silence - except those with children, those made Jeremy hold his breath. These signs were something he'd learned to mask well, and were subtle enough that his father didn't notice (who Jeremy knew was probably looking for an signs of stress on his part). 

     Father and Son entered the grocer, the former pushing a cart whilst the latter scanned the building; it was wide on the outside, but on the inside Jeremy realized that it had likely been a warehouse of some sort before there ever was a grocery store; long, tube-shaped florescent lights ran parallel to the doors, basking the store in blue-white light. Aisles, with signs hanging from steel-wool rope over them, revolving on the spot slowly, were stocked to the brim with goods. Jeremy noted all of that by the time his father and him were in the store proper, and proceeded to head for the produce aisle.

     As his father browsed the different types of bread (rye, wheat, wheat-rye mixes, and nearly everything under the sun, it seemed) Jeremy felt his phone vibrate in his pocket again. Thinking it was Michael, Jeremy slid it out of his pocket and flipped it open, only to find a blank, person-shaped silhouette on the screen and a phone number just above the forehead. Frowning, Jeremy answered the call.

     "Who are you?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too rude. Clearly, he was, as a distorted snort came into his ear.

      _"Straight to it, then?"_ a toneless voice responded, and promptly had Jeremy freezing in place. That was JD's voice. The hazy memory of when he and JD exited the forest flashed before his eyes, and he remembered giving his phone number to the emo.

      _"This is JD, and I was wondering if you were free this weekend."_ Jeremy swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, coughed for a moment, then nodded slowly as his father put a loaf of buckwheat back on the shelf.

     "Um... yeah." Jeremy responded uncertainly. What would JD, local emo and high school freak want with him? The Heathers were going to destroy him on Monday anyways. _You're a freak too,_ Jeremy thought. _What do you have to lose?_

      _"Great, I was wondering if you could meet me at the bus stop? We can walk to my place from there,"_ Jeremy found himself frowning again, not least because his father had picked up the loaf of buckwheat again and was comparing it to a loaf yeast bread from New England. 

     "When?" 

      _"Whenever you're free,"_ JD answered. Jeremy took a moment to think, then spoke into the receiver again. 

     "One? I'm kinda stuck a the grocery store with my dad," Jeremy's eyes narrowed for a moment in the direction of his father, whose eyes were too narrowed, but scrutinizing a loaf of flatbread. "He can't decide which bread to get." Jeremy heard chuckle from JD's end. 

      _"And I thought my dad was strange,"_ he said, amusement making it through Jeremy's outdated tech.  _"See you at one."_ The call ended, and Mr. Heere finally took the loaf of buckwheat and tossed it into his cart, while Jeremy found himself murmuring.

     "Yeah... see you at one," he echoed quietly, with it dawning at him that he just may have made a friend. The thought brought a small smile to his face.

 

* * *

 

     A light breeze brushed against Jeremy's cheek as he stood at his bus stop, five minutes early, hands in his pockets. The thought that he'd met someone he could even call a friend - let alone someone who didn't look at him with reproach - was something that shocked him. In a good way, of course, but it shocked the teen nonetheless. 

     Jeremy squinted as he spotted a silhouette approaching him in the distance. As it got closer and clearer, Jeremy saw how lanky they were, and felt a small amount of relief cross his face as he recognized a black trench coat and boots. Then a leaf, just beginning to turn that autumn shade of auburn, smacked into his face. Jeremy blinked, then huffed as he brushed it off his face. JD was wearing a small grin as he approached Jeremy. 

     "Don't even," Jeremy said, though he too felt his lips beginning to curl upward. JD shrugged, though he was still grinning. 

     "No problem, just try not to get more of those on your face before we get to my house or my dad'll murder you." JD's grin faded and he turned around, gesturing to Jeremy. 

     "Follow me," he said, and Jeremy did just that. The two walked in silence, before Jeremy broke it in an attempt to make small talk. 

     "So... you said you move a lot, right?" JD glanced over at Jeremy, his eyes narrowing, but he still nodded. "How do you like the scenery?" the shorter teen asked, flicking his wrist around them. JD pursed his lips for a moment. 

     "Well... seeing as how the last place was Texas, this is a slight improvement," he said, his lips quirking up slightly with sardonicism. "not by much... but it's better." The two fell into silence again, and Jeremy bit his lower lip before speaking up again. 

     "Where'd you go before you came here?" he asked, and JD stiffened for a moment. Jeremy saw this, and began to stutter. "I-It's okay. You don't need t-" JD cut him off by holding up a hand. 

     "No. it's fair. I asked you the same thing," the taller teen said, and Jeremy was busy fighting down his growing blush. "The last school I went to was - is - hard to describe." Jeremy looked up, his face showing a tint of pink, but curiosity in his eyes. 

     "It wasn't as bad as this place, but it wasn't much better; the hierarchy was super fucking rigid. I was at the bottom my entire time there, always looking through the windows during class and left to stare at the desert and tumbleweeds. Honestly, it wasn't that different from the other eight before." JD said, and Jeremy blinked. The taller teen spoke with such apathy about something that Jeremy knew would have him staring at the ground. 

     "Did you have any friends there?" he asked, and JD shook his head. 

     "Nope." he answered tonelessly. Jeremy felt another blush coming on, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

     "You just might have one now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was chapter five. Hope you enjoyed that. 
> 
> The interactions between Jeremy and JD are just so fun to write! The two have such an interesting dichotomy; I see JD as what Jeremy could possibly become similar to given the right circumstances. Tell me if you agree. Any sort of response would make my day. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	6. Failing Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy hangs out with JD and contemplates his inevitable clash with the Heathers.

      **Jeremy felt** blood rush to his cheeks not a moment after the words were said. JD stopped walking for a moment, eyes narrowed as they surveyed his form. Jeremy wasn't able to stop the small step back that he took even as he too stopped walking. There was a moment of silence between the pair of teenagers, and then JD smiled a bit.

     "That quickly, huh?" he asked, head cocked to the left. "I... appreciate the sentiment." Jeremy blinked as the taller teen proceeded to turn around and continue walking down the sidewalk, as if he hadn't just pulled a creeper moment on him. JD stopped his stride when he realized Jeremy was standing still, and turned to face him, an eyebrow cocked in curiosity. That snapped Jeremy back to reality and he quickly sped up until he was even with JD. The taller teen shrugged and began walking once more, but kept shooting Jeremy glances, finding himself very intrigued. 

     Overall, the skinny, mousy-faced teen had surprised JD with a strange menagerie of traits. He'd known that something was different about him the moment he saw Jeremy; his posture was a bit unruly at times but when his back was straight, it was goddamn straight. He was clearly socially inept, but seemed able to see bad social situations and avoid them. JD had never seen Jeremy do any sports and yet he weaved between the throngs of students in Westerberg's halls with ease. Everything about him should have been a self-aware, somewhat cynical nerd to a typical outsider. There was dichotomy with Jeremy, JD realized, but where it came from was his question. 

     He had to be hiding something. JD had his theories and hunches as to what, and had all but said them to Jeremy on the first day, but couldn't discount coincidence. _Or he could be hiding_ someone _,_ a part of JD pointed out.  _he never brought up his parents at the Seven-Eleven._ A small part of him realized that he'd be introducing Jeremy to his father within minutes, and he felt a twinge of unease. 

     JD glanced over at Jeremy, who was in step with him to a near-perfect degree. He turned left and found himself and Jeremy facing a crosswalk. The pavement was weathered and the black in it was faded, like the asphalt near the 7-11, and JD pressed the button to begin crossing and waited for another two minutes for the lights to change. During that time Jeremy tried to strike up conversation again, asking about JD's house. It caused the taller teen to chuckle a tad nervously.

     "It's... unique," he answered, hoping his voice didn't give away the small amount of misgiving he had developed about Jeremy meeting his father. One of Jeremy's eyebrows raised, and JD deepened his smirk in response. Jeremy didn't inquire further, which JD counted as a good thing, because he doubted that the boy would react kindly to the truth. The pair walked the rest of the way to JD's house in a silence, until JD lead them up the steps of a two-story townhouse whose bricks had lost most of their pigment and whose windows were blocked by beaten-up cardboard boxes. Jeremy blinked.

     "I know," JD said, an Jeremy's eyes - which had been looking at JD's townhouse with a sort of child-like curiosity - snapped to him. "You're shocked by the artfulness of it, right?" Jeremy, after a moment snorted good-naturedly. 

     "Eye of the beholder, right?" JD shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. 

    "If said beholder is drunk half the time," he said, climbing up the steps to the front door. It was white, with paint that was peeling off slightly. Jeremy followed a moment after, truly unsure of whether JD was lying or not. His hand slid up the cast-iron fence that ran along each side of the front steps, and was cool to the touch. He saw JD fish out a rusty-looking key from a pocket in his trench-coat and put it in the lock, twist, and push the door open. Jeremy followed the taller teen inside as he slid his key back into his pocket, and was met with a long hall with drab beige walls, from which nails jutted out, presumably to hold photos, but in actuality held nothing except rust. He heard the sound of a newscaster droning from around a corner at the end of the hall, and jumped slightly when the front door shut with a rather loud _thump_.

     JD turned left and went through a doorway that lead to a tiled kitchen with grout visible in the floor. The only light came from an old-fashioned lamp (the window was blocked with boxes that Jeremy were pretty sure contained a number of plastic plates) that hung over a circular oak table that had a considerable amount of dust on it. The chairs weren't much better, and Jeremy slid into one as JD approached the kitchen's fridge, which conspicuously lacked any sort of decoration. Unless Jeremy decided that mold was a decoration. 

     "So... what do ya want?" he asked, having to hunch over slightly to get a good view of the fridge's contents. 

     "Um..." Jeremy began, frowning. "Anything, really." JD chuckled, and turned around to face Jeremy with two cans of Pepsi.

     "Don't let my dad hear you saying that," he warned in a teasing tone, "he'll mix you something that'll taste horrible. I know from experience." Jeremy nodded, and took his Pepsi in silence. He opened it and after taking a sip, spoke.

     "What's the worst thing he's ever made?" he asked, and JD's brow furrowed for a moment. Then he got up and leaned out the doorway of the kitchen. 

     "Hey, Dad! What's the best thing you ever made me?!" he shouted down the hall. Jeremy heard the creaking of floorboards while the newscaster continued to drone on. 

     "Lemon-lime tequila with egg!" came a harsh voice. JD sat back down whilst Jeremy tried to come to terms with what he'd just heard. 

     "Well, there you have it." JD said, leaning back and taking a sip from his can. Jeremy shook his head. 

     "'Lemon-lime tequila with egg'," he echoed, utterly confounded. JD chuckled. 

     "He saw something in the news about how the average American doesn't get enough protein," JD explained eyes glazing over slightly with mirth. "I spit it out the moment I drank it. Of course, he downed the entire thing, gagged, ad then swore that it was the best thing he'd ever tasted." Jeremy shook his head in exasperation. 

     "Jesus..." he muttered. JD leveled him with a curious gaze. "I wish I could say that was the weirdest thing I'd heard of." JD arched an eyebrow, taking a sip from his Pepsi can.

     "Bull," he said, and Jeremy arched an eyebrow of his own.

     "You want to know?" he asked, and JD nodded, taking another sip of his can while doing so. Jeremy's face scrunched up as he tried to remember. Then it in-scrunched and he felt a grin tugging at his lips.

     "There was this one time my dad tried to make a pie," the teen said, taking of gulp from his soda. "he decided to experiment and add a lot of lemons to 'Balance out the sweet'." Jeremy said the last part with air-quotes. "It didn't help that I'd cut my lip shaving the day before, either. So I ate it and-" Jeremy was cut off by JD chortling loudly, unable to contain his amusement.

     "You have any pictures?" he asked, grinning lopsidedly. Jeremy's face flushed.

     " _No_." he said, which caused JD to laugh even more. Jeremy glared.

     "Shut up," he said, and JD howled. After a few more moments, JD's laughing stopped, but he was still grinning.

     "Still not as bad as my dad, though." he said, and Jeremy raised a brow.

     "Uh-huh," he said disbelievingly, already pulling up his father's worst fuck-ups as counter arguments. JD opened his mouth, and the two spent the next few hours espousing about and arguing that their dad was worse than the other's. Jeremy eventually glanced at the digital clock the kitchen's microwave had and blinked.

     "It's five," he said with shock. JD stopped mid-way through his explanation of the time when his father booked him a party at Chucky-Cheese but didn't even come himself to glance over his shoulder nonchalantly.

     "Huh. Guess it is," JD looked at Jeremy. "You have a curfew?" he asked. Jeremy nodded.

     "It's not right now but I haven't called my dad in four hours and he's probably getting worried." JD nodded, and Jeremy swore he saw a small amount of sadness flicker in his eyes.

     "So you want to head back to the bus stop?" he asked, and Jeremy nodded. Both teens got up, and JD tossed their long-since emptied Pepsi cans into a trash can in the far-left corner of the kitchen. The two walked in relative silence - bar the creaking their footsteps created - and left JD's house. Jeremy immediately shivered slightly, and JD Â locked the door behind them. He jumped down his front steps while Jeremy opted to walk. He shook his head near-imperceptibly and promised himself that Jeremy would be jumping down those steps soon enough. Â 

     The two walked back in a comfortable silence, and aside from the time when JD got smacked in the face by a rogue tree branch, without much difficulty. Jeremy grinned at that moment. JD quickly told him where he could put his grin, which caused Jeremy to grin even wider. That grin was still there when they reached their bus stop.

     "Well... see ya I suppose," JD said, sounding, rarely unsure. Jeremy was still grinning, though it was smaller now.

     "Yeah. See you." he said, and both teens began walking toward their respective houses. Jeremy glanced at JD's retreating back, and his grin was replaced a smile.

     _All in all, a not too heinous day._

 

* * *

    

     Jeremy awoke on Monday morning to the sound of his alarm. It's beeping had snapped him out of the dream he'd been having - in a rather sudden way - and he jerked upward in bed. His hair, which was already frayed from his tossing and turning while he slept, got even more messy from the sudden movement. Jeremy brushed a few strands out of his eyes blearily and threw his covers away from him, swung his legs over the side of his bed, and stood. For a moment, as the blood rushed to his head, Jeremy was disorientated, and then he shambled over to his alarm clock and shut it off.

     The teen rubbed his eyes blearily, letting out another yawn, and opened the door to his room. he was faintly aware of how the floorboards creaked as he shuffled over to the bathroom, and he shut the door behind him automatically. Jeremy quickly stripped himself of his clothes and entered the shower, and the water snapped him into focus. He'd did his best over Sunday and the latter half of Saturday to ignore the looming fact that he'd be facing the Heathers' collective wrath on Monday. It was easy to do when he could just sit in living room and watch the news with his dad, or do the homework his teachers had assigned him and that he'd ignored. He told himself that he had bigger things to worry about at the time. But now?

     Jeremy was struck with the realization that he was literal minutes away from having to go to Westerberg and face the Heathers as he poured shampoo into a cupped hand. he froze and soon blue-green shampoo was flowing out of his hand and into the tub of the shower. After a moment he shook his head, and rather hastily applied some liquid into his hair, and tried his best to focus on making his hair non-clumpy. 

     He left the shower and wrapped himself in a recently-bleached towel that would've filled him with a warm, comfortable feeling had he not been anticipating what he expected to be a rather sudden and brutal social death. He quickly dried himself and re-dressed himself, glad he decided to sleep in the clothes he planned to today, and as he turned on the fan in the shower to filter in new air, felt a strange feeling of anticipation overtake him. As he collected a dirt-brown cardigan from his closet, Jeremy noticed that his left thumb was swaying back and forth. An old nervous twitch he'd developed in third grade and had retained since. A moment after he noticed it, he dug his nails into his palm. The twitch stopped. 

     Jeremy exited his room with his backpack slung over his shoulder and look about his face that one might have after being told to assail a fortress. The teen poured his cereal as his father sat on the couch, laptop already open and resting on his legs, typing away furiously. Jeremy remembered that he'd mentioned some report being due Monday over dinner the previous night. Realizing that he likely wouldn't get much support from his father, the teen felt a small stab of loneliness. Of course, he had JD (who he'd made an official contact on Saturday), but also realized that the emo would likely serve as more ammunition for Heather Chandler. Jeremy put his cereal box away with unnecessary force. 

     His father was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice Jeremy run hands through his hair while he stirred his cereal absentmindedly, the individual pieces of cereal getting more soggy as the minutes wore on. Jeremy was torn; he'd truly had a good time with JD on Saturday, and didn't want to drag him into his problems, yet he'd also promised to protect Jeremy. JD would only give the Heathers more ammunition to belittle him with, but at the same time, he'd have JD to support him. But what happened if the football team got involved? Jeremy doubted that JD could contend with linebackers - or if he could even fight well, if he was honest with himself. A image of JD laying bruised and moaning by his and Jeremy's lockers flashed unbidden in the teen's mind. Jeremy slammed his free hand down on the table, causing it shake at the legs.

     "Is everything okay, Jeremy?" his father asked, turning around to face his son, though he continued to sit. Jeremy blinked then spoke in a quiet voice. 

     "Yes," he responded, and Mr. Heere turned back to his work. Jeremy glanced up at the clock and quickly rose from his seat, his bowl of cereal still sitting there, uneaten. Slinging a backpack strap over his shoulder, Jeremy reached inside his pockets, confirming to himself that he had his phone and key. Then he raced to his front door, unlocked pushed it open, and let it close behind him. Swiftly, Jeremy locked it behind him, twisting the key fast enough that his palm hurt slightly, and began to walk to his bus stop.

     He arrived just as the bus was pulling up, and Jeremy saw JD shoot him a small glance as he boarded. Getting on as fast as he could manage, and stumbling slightly on the way, Jeremy flopped down onto a seat in the back, leaning back and sighing heavily. He glanced over to his left and saw a weedy girl whose hair framed her pale, slightly-gaunt face rather well looking at him curiously. As soon as she noticed his gaze, she looked away, a smattering of pink on her cheeks. Jeremy shrugged and looked away, trying to calm himself as the bus picked up student after student, and much like his first day, Westerberg High came into view too quickly for his liking. He scanned the crowd, trying to find the Heathers in the students milling about, but found his search unfruitful. He got up and slung a backpack strap over his shoulders again, noticing how he was getting second glances from people as he shuffled out of his bus. 

     Jeremy grimaced. 

     When at last he got off, Jeremy took a breath and entered into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Hi. 
> 
> One thing I'd like to clear up: Jeremy doesn't hate his father, but feels like they don't connect. It also would seem that he has plenty of reason consider his dad a massive screw-up. In short, it's complicated and dual-sided.
> 
> And that's about it. I hope you guys enjoyed this. Any sort of response would be great. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	7. Cafeteria Calamity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second confrontation between Jeremy and Chandler.

      **Jeremy's eyes** darted around him in the crowd, and his heart stopped for a moment when he saw a girl who was wearing a beat-red top talking to her friend, who was wearing a yellow cardigan. He nearly tripped over people at times as he made his way as fast as he could to the entrance to Westerberg. Which wasn't as fast as he would've liked, because he got through the doorstep of Westerberg just as he heard the honking of a jeep. He glanced over his shoulder, saw the Heathers get out, and proceeded to speed-walk the rest of the way to his locker.

     He got even more second glances this time, though they varied widely, with some being of surprise while others lasted only a moment before whoever was looking at him quickly turned to someone else. Jeremy saw the same group of jocks who he'd seen on his first day walking down the hall again, and his breath hitched. Would they know what he looked like? Of course it depended on what Chandler had spent the weekend doing, and Jeremy A: didn't know that and B: wasn't sure of how deep Chandler's hubris ran or how angry she was at him. Jeremy was snapped out of his near-panicked pondering by someone bumping into him from behind. He turned to face them and saw a chubby girl with glasses that had heart-shaped, thick-set rims and a second chin looking up at him curiously.

     "S-sorry," he said quickly, not even giving the girl time to respond as he made his decision. He would risk it. With numerous facets of himself worriedly ranting about how much of a risk he was taking, Jeremy strode toward the group of jocks. Their gazes eventually found his frame as he walked on what they were sure to be a collision course with him. The lead jock looked to his friends on his left and right, a bemused expression crossing his face. He squared his shoulders, preparing to shove Jeremy out of his way, and then saw him dart to the left, to the weediest of his clique. The jock raised a brow as Jeremy managed to just slip past him and his friends, and then he chuckled. _Nerds,_ he thought.

     Jeremy let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding and felt his shoulders relax a bit. If the jocks recognized him, they hadn't done anything, which could put them in Chandler's crosshairs for a bit. Or they could not have recognized him, and might bring up that weird, mousy nerd that avoided them in the hallway. And knowing Chandler... Jeremy froze for a second.

     He resumed walking a moment later, but he felt confused gazes on his back. He took in a calming breath and shifted to the right as two nervous-looking freshman girls nearly bumped into him. Jeremy continued to sidestep and his way around students, silently praying nobody had taken a picture of him during his confrontation with Chandler as he noticed the height of the students he was maneuvering around shoot up. The teen was more relieved than he should have been to turn the corner to an empty, dimly-lit hall where there wasn't anybody else but him, but it meant he'd finally reached his locker. Jeremy sighed as he approached his locker running a hand through his hair.

      _They haven't even gone after you yet and you're already jumpy,_ he thought, and he felt a sardonic grin tugging a his lips. _wonder how long it'll be before I-_

     "You look stressed." stated a voice from the shadows. Jeremy jumped, swore quietly, and turned to face JD.

     "Stop doing that!" he hissed, hand over his heart. JD grinned wryly for a moment, and then it faded.

     "You look stressed," he repeated, and Jeremy ran a hand through his messy hair looking at JD with lidded eyes.

     "Yep," he said, opening his locker and sliding his binder out of his backpack. He saw the look in JD's eyes and quickly shook his head. "Don't do anything." Jeremy said, and JD remained impassive. There was a beat. Jeremy spoke. 

      "Fine. I won't help you," JD cut him off, and there was a flicker of anger in his eyes. "but don't say I didn't offer." JD shut his locker with a more force than was needed, and sent a rattle through to Jeremy's. JD strode away, his footsteps oddly stilted, and Jeremy heard a yelp soon after he turned the corner. He stood there for a moment, blinking. Something in him said to go after JD, to apologize. But what did he have to apologize for? He didn't want JD to get wrapped up in his trouble. Shaking his head, Jeremy  put his stuff in and closed his locker, feeling a strange coldness settle itself in his gut. He took a breath, and headed for his first period.

 

* * *

 

     That coldness was still with Jeremy by the time he joined the line to enter his first period, he glanced around trying to find something to occupy his attention; there weren't that many students left in the hall, and the majority of those in the line were talking to each other. Jeremy swore he got some stares as he'd passed the other students, and had ignored them to the best of his ability. But nobody tried to strike up conversation with him, and his mind kept drifting back to the anger he'd seen in JD's eyes.

     Why was he angry? JD, overall, seemed largely apathetic to others. What would he care if Jeremy didn't want his help? It wasn't like it was his problem. Did he offend him? How? All he'd asked, essentially, is that JD let him work out his own issues. What was wrong with that? There was, of course, the possibility that he was concerned...

     Jeremy felt a tap on his shoulder. 

     He turned around to see the visage of Heather Duke, brown hair framing her face immaculately, grinning wolfishly at him. Jeremy blanched and blinked hard, staring at Duke with unabashed horror in his eyes. His breath hitched again and shortly Jeremy felt his face turning crimson. Duke's grin grew into a devious smirk, and then the line began to move. Feeling blood rushing to his cheeks, Jeremy turned away from her and shuffled into Mr. Krikor's classroom, feeling Duke's eyes on his back the entire time. As he sat down in his seat, he saw Duke shoot him another wicked look. Gulping, Jeremy shakily got out a piece of spare paper and a pencil.

     Mr. Krikor immediately launched into another lecture on the structure of ancient Athens' government and politics, leaving Jeremy and his peers to copy down what he said frantically. For someone with such a receding hairline as Mr. Krikor's, he could talk. And fast. Jeremy found himself temporarily void of that coldness as he scribbled down names and facts about Ancient Greece at a breakneck pace, and slowly felt his right hand get sorer as the class wore on. When the bell at last rang, Jeremy welcomed it's shrill chime with open arms. Mr. Krikor informed the class that he wanted a summary of pages 385-394 the next day, and bid them farewell, going to his desk and taking a large gulp of water. Jeremy got up, put his freshly-written notes in his binder, and silently prayed math wouldn't require so much writing.

     He was snapped out of his temporary tired satisfaction when he felt something warm brush against his forearm. He glanced down to see Duke mouth 'You're Dead' and sashay off, drawing appreciative or jealous glances from other students. Then, without missing a beat, the coldness returned to his gut, and Jeremy set off to math in low spirits. Once again he joined the line that formed outside the classroom, ignoring the looks he got on the way, and tried to ignore the coldness in his stomach. Jeremy felt supremely uncomfortable by the time he entered Mr. Fedralson's class. 

        Jeremy sat down at his desk and saw Mr. Fedralson rise to his feet, and when everybody was seated, he launched into an explanation of another method of finding X, or Y, or really, in Jeremy's opinion, an unnecessary addition to a glorified math sentence. He tried to focus on Mr. Fedralson's lecture - if only to take his mind off the iciness in his gut - but found that the wizened man's explanation was dry enough to make a desert blush. His eyes scanned the classroom's plain, tan-painted walls in a futile attempt to distract himself, but his attention kept drifting back to his conversation with JD.

     "Ah, yes, a question Ms. Frands?" came Mr. Fedralson, and Jeremy straightened in his seat. The girl who he'd seen doodling on his first day was raising her hand. Jeremy noted that she was pale, and her face was somewhat gaunt. She asked her question (Jeremy thought he might've heard something about the order of operations), and her eyes found him, and recognition showed in them. She smiled at him, flashing a mouth of well-maintained teeth and Jeremy looked away, a light smattering of crimson on his face.

    The rest of the period ticked away with Jeremy looking at Mr. Fedralson and twirling his pencil between his fingers. When the bell for third period finally rang, Jeremy got up from his seat and exited Mr. Fedralson's class with the realization that he'd barely listened throughout class, and that doing his homework would be hell when he got home. Glowering, Jeremy proceeded to half-listen through his next three periods, and struggled to not focus on how uncomfortable he was. When the bell for lunch rang, Jeremy got up and then froze; going to lunch would mean going into a possibly the most public place in Westerberg except the hallways. Going there would have him walking into what he was certain to be a trap. But he couldn't just hide, could he? Surely the Heathers would find him. They were at the top of the social food chain. Noticing that the classroom he was in had all but emptied, Jeremy quickly rushed out of it, stumbling slightly, and entered the overly-crowded hallway.

     His mind was swirling with conflicting thoughts; most of him said to stay far away from anywhere Chandler or any member of the Heathers might be, while some small part of him, that part that he'd nearly lost during the time when his SQUIP was active, said to stand up for himself. Jeremy knew very well that that was a bad idea: it made about as much sense as going into a cultists' den alone when nobody knew. But, again, it was his gut that told him that Christine would go out with him. It didn't work out, but the time he'd spent with her was some of the most enjoyable of his life up to that point and past it. Jeremy's stomach growled loudly as he slipped by a gaggle of boys who were talking amiably and in hushed voices to each other about some Cheerleader, and he suddenly remembered that he hadn't eaten breakfast that day. Jeremy turned the corner that lead to his locker. 

     As the light grew dimmer, Jeremy stopped walking and ran a hand through his hair. He'd mostly been unaware of how hungry he was during his classes, as his mental focus had drifted back to JD whenever it could've made itself known, such was how off-kilter it had left him. Jeremy bit his lip to the point of pain as he saw a lanky outline emerge from the end of the hall. Jeremy blinked as JD got closer, his head held high, ignoring him. Jeremy had just opened his mouth when JD passed him. The teen followed the emo until he was out of sight, and heard yet another yelp from around the corner. Jeremy stood there for a moment, ad then sighed, letting his shoulders sag. 

     JD probably expected him to be dead by the end of the day. Everybody else in the school probably expected him to be, too. No-one he knew probably had any faith in him anyways. Normally he'd consult Michael for a conundrum of this level, but he knew that he would not only be breaking a rule (not that he was likely to be caught, at any rate) but if Friday had been a judge of Michael's reliability, Jeremy doubted that he'd even have the time for him. Jeremy leaned against an unused row of lockers, scowling at the ground in thought. He knew it was a serious risk to go to the lunch room. He knew that he'd be walking into Chandler's arms if he went. Jeremy knew that avoidance would give him the best chance of surviving to the next period. But that would only delay the problem. After all, it wasn't that hard to stand up to Chandler the last time... he just reacted on instinct. He could do it again, right? Maybe if he stood up enough, he might gain a friend other than JD. Someone to support him. Maybe...

     His stomach growled. 

     Jeremy pushed himself off the lockers and squared his scrawny shoulders. Maybe, if he took this leap of faith, and showed that he wasn't going to be cowed, he might just gain something.

 

* * *

 

     His bravado lasted approximately to the cafeteria doors. There wasn't anyone else there, of course. So Jeremy simply stood in the hall, staring at the double doors, gripped with apprehension. This had 'Bad idea' written on it with big red letters with equally red ink. Socially messing with the most popular girl in your school on your first week? Bad. Trying to do the same thing again? Even worse of an idea. _But then again_ , a part of Jeremy pointed out, _what do you have to lose?_

Taking a shaky breath, Jeremy pushed open the double doors to the Westerberg cafeteria. Students were buzzing about, finding seats and talking to each other. Laughs and quips reached Jeremy's ears as he joined the twenty-strong line for food the day's food. Jeremy felt a few gazes on his back, and he wasn't able to stop his face from reddening as he picked up his gray, TV-dinner esque lunch tray. He received his food - a cup of foul-smelling chicken-noodle soup, a heavily crisped roll, and a mix of vegetables - and left the line of people getting food, looking around the lunch room for a table. Once again, he had to settle for the table with the kids that played Magic: The Gathering.

     Jeremy sat down, alone, at the end of the table that was bathed in sunlight from the window that was above the table. The rest of the table's occupants had filled up all the space that had shade, leaving Jeremy to vaguely worry about whether he'd get a sunburn on the back of his neck. Like with breakfast, Jeremy found himself looking at his food rather than eating it; no-one had approached him yet (at that thought, Jeremy glanced around the room to be doubly sure that no-one was walking towards him), which meant one of two things. Either he'd slipped by the notice of the Heathers - something Jeremy was very open to - or they hadn't arrived yet. Jeremy glanced around him again, his eyes searching for JD, but not finding the trench-coat. Jeremy took a breath. Amongst the snippets of conversation he heard, there wasn't any mention of him, of which he was grateful. He glance around him once more: nobody was approaching the table. Perhaps he'd been worrying over nothing. Chandler just might've been arrogant enough that she'd moved on. Jeremy looked around himself again. 

     BANG.

     Jeremy's head spun toward the doors of the cafeteria, which had just slammed into the walls, and saw a group of jocks walk through... that eventually parted for a group of three girls. Jeremy felt a knot form in his stomach, temporarily replacing the coldness JD had caused. He watched with rapt attention, noting that Chandler's attire was no different from what she wore on Friday, as her eyes traveled around the room, surveying each of the tables in turn with a frown across her face. Jeremy was about to look away when she locked eyes with him. Chandler grinned. Jeremy's face, somehow, went an even deeper shade of crimson. Chandler wordlessly gestured to Duke and McNamara, strutting toward Jeremy's table whilst it's other occupants stared at her. Jeremy wanted to move - to do something to get away - but found that his legs inexplicably refused to move. 

     "My my my," Chandler said when she got close enough, placing her hands on the surface of the table. "So you've decided to show your face?" Her grin was wicked, and Jeremy felt very much like caught prey. Chandler leaned across the table, so her face was inches from Jeremy's. He averted eye contact.

     "You've probably seen better days, haven't you?" asked Chandler, and Jeremy felt a shiver cascade down his spine as he felt her breath against his face. Chandler frowned in mock-though for a moment. " _I'm_ not the reason you're like this, am I?" Jeremy didn't answer. Duke and McNamara fanned out to his right and left again. Chandler had her manicured hand over her heart, and Jeremy pleaded with his legs to move.

     "So, do you want to apologize for last week?" Chandler asked, raising a near-perfect eyebrow. Jeremy bit his lower lip, knowing how pathetic he must've looked at the moment; blushing, nervous, and averting eye contact. Some part of Jeremy twitched at that realization, and the word had left his mouth before he could temper it with reason.

     "No." he said quietly. Chandler put a hand to one of her ears. 

     "Sorry? Could you repeat that please?" Jeremy raised his gaze to meet Chandler's. _What do I have to lose?_

     "No." he said, more conviction in his voice. Chandler's eyes went wide for a moment, and then she have another tinkling laugh.

     "Excuse me?" she asked, her tone darkening. Jeremy straightened. 

     "No." he repeated firmly. Duke and McNamara exchanged a surprised look. Chandler let out a tinkling laugh once more, and Jeremy swore he detected a note of nervousness in it. 

     "Would you care to repeat that?" Chandler said, dropping her voice an octave. Jeremy looked back at her with narrowed eyes. 

     "I don't know, would I?" said Jeremy.

     The cafeteria was silent now, and Jeremy saw anger flash in Chandler's eyes. Dozens of pairs of eyes were watching the scene unfold, and the magic players at Jeremy's table now had their collective gaze on him, and were staring in awe. Chandler glared at Jeremy. 

     "I'm warning you, geek," she said in a low whisper. "I could make your life hell with a snap of my fingers." Jeremy's expression steeled, and he grinned at Chandler. 

     "Do I look scared?" he whispered back. Chandler smirked. 

     "You have spunk, at the least." she said, and then leaned back, giving Jeremy some room the breathe. Duke had an eyebrow raised, and McNamara was looking at Chandler. She shot the table where the jocks hung out a meaningful look.

     "Ohhh Ram! Kurt?" she shouted across the cafeteria, and Jeremy's face fell. This wasn't going to end well. He saw who he assumed to be Ram and Kurt get up from their table and strode toward Chandler - and toward himself. Chandler turned to face them just as they got close. Jeremy noted that the heel of Chandler's boot was slightly off-center due to how she leaned back when facing the jocks. She leaned in toward both of them, and Jeremy knew he had to something. 

     "What's she gonna do to you two so you beat me up?" he asked. The teen didn't know what made him say it, nor where the line had even come from, but it caused Chandler to spin on her heel to face him... on her bad foot. Her eyes went wide as she realized what was happening. She toppled to the ground, and Ram, Kurt, Duke, and McNamara immediately surge forward to catch her.

     Then the bell rang.

      Jeremy got up, his knee hitting his table and causing his chicken-noodle soup to spill over. Ignoring the throbbing in his knee, Jeremy left the cafeteria as fast as he could, with as many eyes on his back as there were on Chandler. He crossed the threshold of the cafeteria doors just as Chandler shrieked in rage. Jeremy's pace went from a speed-walk to sprint as he raced toward his locker. He saw a few students who had been in other teacher's classrooms during lunch look at him curiously. 

     "Slow down! You have plenty of time to get to your next period!" Ms. Fleming said to him as Jeremy sped past her. He didn't slow down, however, until he turned the corner that lead to his locker, when he placed his hands over his knees and near keeled over, breathing heavily and feeling exhaustion flood his limbs as the adrenaline ebbed. Jeremy couldn't help the grin from spreading across his face.

     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> ...And I'm starting school again on Tuesday. Yeah.
> 
> I hope to get chapter eight out sometime in the next two weeks, but for all I know my classes might be too draining. :/
> 
> Still, though, this was a blast to write and I hope you think it's worth some type of response. Kudos, comments, bookmarks - anything. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	8. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set-up chapter, mostly, but it does have some more angsty Jeremy moments. So that's fun.

      **The rest** of the day, Jeremy got stares. His verbal spat with Chandler had spread like a wildfire among the other students, and by seventh period Jeremy felt very much like a new, eccentric addition to a zoo. It was strange, really; had he been himself from two years prior, Jeremy would have given anything to be noticed by people in ways that didn't involve bullies and embarrassing social mistakes. But now... the staring just reminded Jeremy of how he'd made himself a priority target for Chandler.

     Jeremy had internally spent the rest of the day kicking himself, and valiantly trying to fight down a growing and increasingly ever-present blush. The teen turned the corner that lead to his locker, gripping his binder with white knuckles and with a face flooded with crimson up to his nose. Sighing heavily, Jeremy ran a hand through his hair, which had become frazzled after his sprint to his locker and had utterly refused to be flattened. Jeremy brushed a stray bunch out of his eyes, feeling a glower coming on, and then he felt his phone vibrate. It was JD.

      _Dad's picking me up today. You want a ride?_

     Jeremy's lips formed into a frown. Getting a ride from JD's dad could easily end poorly. From what Jeremy could tell, JD's dad didn't really care; sure, he asked questions like 'How was school' when JD got home or 'What'd you get on that test?' but he always, from all Jeremy could tell, wanted quick, short answers to those questions. Jeremy sighed. The thought of an argument happening between them sent a shiver down his spine. He texted back.

      _No thanks. I think I'll risk the bus._

     Jeremy walked down the rest of the hall, opened his locker, and though he was met with some difficulty from the zipper of his backpack, got his things packed up in a timely fashion. He was closing his locker when he felt his pocket vibrate again. JD had responded.

     _You sure?_

     Jeremy nodded to himself. 

      _Yeah. Thanks for offering though._

    Jeremy took a moment to let a breath in his mouth and out his nose when he was a few feet from the corner of the hall. Jeremy was certain his face was still red, and some part of him hoped that, maybe, he people in the hall would be too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice him. His phone vibrated again. Jeremy read JD's response.

      _Okay. Good luck. Sorry about the morning._

     Jeremy sucked in a breath that wasn't at all as stable he'd hoped and listened for a moment to the conversation of the other students.

     "Did you see her face? Priceless!" came a female voice. Jeremy made out a small chuckle.

     "Yeah... but what'll happen to him?" came second voice. It was, Jeremy noted, also feminine. He gulped internally.

     "He'll probably get beat up," the first one said. "but he'll probably be left alone after that..." They trailed off, and then spoke in a higher pitch.

     "You're not seriously going to tell me you like him?" asked the first voice incredulously. From the next few words the first one said next, Jeremy guessed the second person had nodded.

     "Ohhhh! Why, though?" that was the first voice. Jeremy felt his face going red just listening to the pair of girls.

     "I don't know... he's got that mystery thing I guess; you know, that fish our of water factor. And everything he did with Chandler... I mean he's not _bad_ looking..." Jeremy's face had flushed at those words, and he was struck with the realization that he'd miss his bus if he didn't move soon. He picked up a few more snippets of conversation, most of which were, much to his exasperation, still about him. Taking one last breath, Jeremy turned the corner. 

     He immediately felt eyes on him, and he noticed that two girls were talking to each other near an open locker to Jeremy's right; the locker was open, and one of the girl's was giggling while the other was glancing around, massively embarrassed, while their friend was grabbing coat. When the second girl's eyes found Jeremy, they went wide and she tapped her friend on the shoulder. Her friend turned around, and her question died in her throat as she saw Jeremy speed-walking away from them. He glanced back once he'd gotten a serviceable distance away from the pair, and saw that they were whispering to each other. Jeremy's face got a bit more scarlet. 

     The teen eventually gave up trying to stop blood rushing to his cheeks, and continued on slipping past and in between students as normally as one could manage when nearly all of those same students were talking about him; he even heard one boy telling his friend that Jeremy had thrown his soup in Chandler's face before running out of the lunchroom. Another even had the idea that Jeremy had called Chandler a bitch. Jeremy shook his head. When he'd activated his SQUIP, yes, he'd gotten second glances in the halls. But he'd never heard rumors as audacious as those two. By the time Jeremy reached the threshold of the front door, he vaguely wondered if some of the students at Westerberg had been high during his spat with Chandler.

     Jeremy made a beeline for his bus, still sporting a furious blush, and quickly found a seat in the very back and sank into the olive-green leather it was made of - which had several places where it had been repaired with duct-tape. He set his backpack against the wall of the bus and leaned against it, trying one more time to flatten his hair. 

     "I think you're fighting a losing battle there," came a voice to his left. Jeremy jumped in his seat, letting out a rather unmanly squeak. He looked around and saw a girl standing in the middle of the aisle, whose slightly gaunt visage looked down at him with a small amount of nervousness. Jeremy blinked in recognition. 

     "Aren't you in my math class?" he asked, and the teen sat a bit straighter. The girl nodded.

     "Yeah. I think I sit next to you," she said, "you mind if I sit here?" she asked, pointing to the empty space next to Jeremy.

     "S-sure," he stuttered, scooting over a bit. The girl sat down and extended a long-fingered hand.

     "Page," she said, and Jeremy, not expecting something like that, blinked once more. A moment after he collected himself and grasped the girl's hand; it was uncommonly cool, and Jeremy felt that her grip was a tad too tight. Nonetheless, he pumped her arm twice, quickly stuttering out his name beforehand, and quickly de-entwined his fingers from hers. Disappointment flickered through Page's eyes.

     "That was really cool, you know, what you did at lunch." Page said, and Jeremy, who had directed his eyes to the window, swiveled them to her. It was then that he noticed the seat across from them was perfectly empty and part of him realized she probably _did_ sit next to him in math class. His eyes narrowed slightly. 

     "Thanks," he said, and he'd even turned his head halfway to face the window again when Page spoke again.

     "I think it's really brave, what you're doing," she said, and Jeremy turned his head back to face her, with his cheeks beginning to get a bit redder. Page spoke with a bit more strength when he made eye contact. "Standing up to Chandler. No-one's ever done that before," Page smiled, flashing her teeth again, and Jeremy nodded.

     "Thanks," he said again, and he turned away promptly afterward. Jeremy felt very much like this had been set up. He could feel Page's eyes surveying his back as he looked out the window.

     "Are you okay?" asked Page. Jeremy turned to face her, a bit annoyed now, and cocked an eyebrow.

     "I'm great," he said, feeling sarcasm mix with his annoyance. "I just have to worry about the football team being sicked on me. Never been better." Jeremy began to turn away from Page once more. 

     "You don't have to be alone on this," she said, and Jeremy turned back to face her, seeing that her face had formed into a soft, nervous smile and that her eyes held sympathy. Jeremy bit his lower lip in exasperation. He did _not_ need this right now. Page must've taken this as uncertainty, as she reached out a bit toward Jeremy's right hand. The teen pulled his back. 

     "I'm not alone on this," Jeremy said. Again, disappointment flickered in Page's eyes for a moment. 

     "You aren't?" she asked, surprised. Jeremy had never been seen with anybody else. "Who is it?" At that, Jeremy felt something in his throat freeze. Telling Page about JD could easily get him involved in this - and he'd watched too many comic book movies where friends had been targeted by the bad guy. And if the rumors that were being spread about him right now were any example, he didn't want to imagine what Chandler would do with his friendship with JD.  

     "Are you sure?" Page asked, scooting the tiniest bit closer to Jeremy. He blinked, feeling his mouth go dry. He needed more time to think. Page was looking at him concernedly, and Jeremy gulped, feeling blood rush to his face again. 

     "I-I don't you," he said, scooting back. Page's smile grew a noticeable bit wider. 

     "Why don't you get to know me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Jeremy's mouth felt like a desert. His face had gone crimson again. 

     "Um..." Jeremy glanced out his window, seeing his bus stop coming up. He glanced back at Page. "My stops coming up soon..." Jeremy saw disappointment pass through Page's eyes once more and he collected his backpack just as the bus was slowing down. Page looked as if Christmas had been canceled for a moment, and then it was swept away. In it's place was a concerned, sympathetic expression. Jeremy got up, face still red. 

     "S'cuse me," he said awkwardly, and Page flattened against the seat as he passed. Jeremy quickly got off the bus, with his face still a brilliant beat-red. he drew several curious glances from the other students, which only made his face worse.  He felt Page's eyes on him as the bus drove off.

 

* * *

 

     Jeremy's face had mostly lost it's blush by the time he put his key into the lock of his front door. He twisted the key to the right, to the left, and to the right again. He took his key out of the lock and stepped past the threshold. He saw his father, again sitting on the couch; his work laptop was supported by his crossed legs, and Jeremy saw a ceramic mug sitting on his living room's coffee table, with no coaster in sight. He shook his head. 

     "Hey dad," he said in a bland tone. His father looked up from his laptop's screen and stopped typing for a moment.

     "Hey son," he responded, and seeing the light smattering of pink that still tinted Jeremy's cheeks, turned serious. "Did that girl give you any trouble today?" Mr. Heere added, frowning a bit. Jeremy was silent for a moment.  _Nooo,_ he thought, exasperation coming back to him.  _I just pissed her off_ more _._

     "None, actually," he said in a blithely chipper voice. Mr. Heere's frown deepened, and his eyes narrowed a millimeter. Father and son held gazes for a moment, the former searching for discrepancies in the latter's expression. Jeremy straightened himself and frowned back in an 'Do you want to question my only source of happiness?' way. A few seconds passed. Then Mr. Heere gave a small smile.

     "Good," he said. "But if she ever does, Jeremy, I'll be here for you." Jeremy turned his frown into a small smile back at his father, and walked to the kitchen table, setting his backpack next to his chair after he sat down. Mr. Heere followed his son's movements, looking for anymore signals that something might be off, and found nothing. He went back to his work.

     Jeremy zipped his backpack open, and his mouth drooped back into a frown. He zipped his backpack open and slid his binder out, setting it down on the kitchen table. He opened it with a small sigh. 

     For the next two hours, Jeremy sat at that table; the work was tiring. Especially the math, which Jeremy mentally wrestled with for several minutes until he finally had an epiphany about the concept of the homework that was so obvious he slapped his forehead. His father had looked over to see Jeremy sitting up, straight-backed, shaking his head in exasperation. He opened his mouth to ask if something was wrong, but Jeremy simply hunched over his homework, scribbling furiously whilst doing his best to ignore the stinging in his brow. Mr. Heere watched him for a moment, bemused, and then turned back to his work. The rest of his homework was fairly simple, and when Jeremy at last looked up at the clock, he went pale. 

     It was five o'clock.

     Jeremy blinked hard, and proceeded to skim through pages 384-395 of his history textbook, hastily scrawling a summary of it in the composition notebook his father had bought him for the class. It took him an extra thirty minutes, and his right hand was throbbing lightly by the end of it, but Jeremy finished the summary. Then he quickly stuffed his things back into his binder and his binder into his backpack. He was going to call JD. He needed someone his age at the moment. He had his phone flipped open when the thought struck him.

     Why wasn't he going to Michael for this?

     Jeremy stiffened in disquiet at the thought; if he was honest with himself, Michael's inability to answer last week felt him a tad burnt. Michael had always been there - a bulwark to his loneliness; when he was at his lowest, Michael had-

     Jeremy's breath hitched.

     He hadn't been there last week. He hadn't called Jeremy at all over the weekend. 

     Jeremy held his head in his hands. He chewed his lower lip for a few moments.  _At least try,_ a voice in the back of his mind said,  _what's the worst that can happen?_

That thought carried him down the hall and his phone back to his pocket, and to his MacBook. Jeremy flopped down into his revolving chair and reached into a drawer of his desk, retrieving his headphones and plugging them into the jack built into his MacBook. He did the same thing with his microphone, and opened skype. He clicked Michael's contact and leaned back. 

     Michael wouldn't answer; Jeremy tried calling a few more times, but for all the good that did him he might as well a have not clicked at all. Jeremy shut his MacBook, with a tad more force than he should've, as his microphone fell over because of it. Jeremy huffed and unplugged his headphones, tossed them unceremoniously into their drawer, and stood up. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

     He was directed to voicemail. Glaring at his phone, Jeremy aimed a kick toward his desk. He groaned and his desk shook. 

     "'Two-player game?'," muttered Jeremy, and then he let out another bitter laugh that gave him pause. It hung in his room, eerily disquieting in it's own way, before Jeremy shook his head and called JD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. It seems I have made the discovery my parents told me was false: high school isn't fun. Hooray.
> 
> Oh well. I hope to get chapter nine out at some point soon-ish, but I'm not giving myself deadlines because I will go FAR past them. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this enough to give me a response. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	9. Who's That With Heather?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You read the title. I think you got the gist. Still, though... this chapter isn't without it's warning signs of things that may or may not come.

     Jeremy pressed his phone to his ear, a tad angrily, before sighing heavily as JD picked up. 

      _"Yeah?"_ to Jeremy, hearing a voice he could count as friendly was a relief. He ran a hand through his hair. 

     "Can you meet me at the bus stop?" he asked, worried edge didn't creep into his tone. 

      _"Sure. See you in a bit, then."_ and much in JD fashion, the call ended right there. 

     He left his house with a short, non-descriptive 'I'm heading out' to his father, and Jeremy was vaguely aware of the fact that he'd agreed to coming home at eight PM. Jeremy was even less aware of the slight breeze that picked up around him as he walked. The sun was just beginning to wane, about a fourth of the way set, and Jeremy's eyes flicked about him more often than he'd've liked to admit. 

     The teen was uncomfortable. He felt like one of the Heathers would jump out of the bushes; like there was something near him, and he knew that the situation was wrong, but whatever it was was just out of his perception. His footsteps were the lone source of sound on the sidewalks as he walked, and he saw warm yellow light from other houses as he passed; some had curtains drawn over their windows, while others allowed him to peer inside. He saw families gathered around TV's and eating dinner in kitchens, laughing...

     Exasperatedly, Jeremy sighed. He wasn't that far from his bus stop, anyway. He'd be seeing JD soon. He'd have a distraction soon. 

     He rounded the last corner before his stop and saw a dark silhouette standing tall, hands in the pockets of their coat. Some part of Jeremy realized that JD was being the archetypal brooding anime protagonist at that moment, and his lips quirked up into a grin. JD's head turned toward him when he was within earshot. Jeremy waved enthusiastically. 

     "Hey, Light," he said, and JD looked him over with that critical eye he seemed to be a master of. 

     "You're stressed," JD told Jeremy flatly. Jeremy's grin fell. 

     "Well 'Hello' to you, too..." Jeremy muttered. JD shrugged. 

     "Might as well get it out, right?" he said nonchalantly, "Besides, I know you didn't call me to talk about homework." Jeremy blinked. 

     "Was I that obvious?" he asked, a tad sheepishly. JD nodded, taking his pale hands out of his pockets and withdrew a cigarette and lighter. Jeremy's eyes went wider back as JD inhaled the smoke, then blew it out to his right. 

     "Surprised?" asked JD, face still expressionless. Jeremy was silent for another moment.  _Black trenchcoat..._ he thought to himself,  _loner, almost no friends..._

     "No," Jeremy said. JD raised a brow, inhaling and then exhaling more smoke to his right again. "My friend Michael was a stoner." JD looked Jeremy over again. Face immediately flushing, Jeremy held his hands up. 

     "N-no! I wasn't into it." he said quickly. JD, after a moment's consideration, shrugged. 

     "Whatever. You don't really look the type. You're too..." JD trailed off. Jeremy looked at him, cheeks still flaming, but JD was looking him over again. "I don't know. You're definitely not the type from the outside, at least." Jeremy averted eye contact for a few moments. 

     "Erm... I need help." he said, and JD couldn't stop the snort from exiting him. He immediately stiffened after the sound left him, but the damage had been done; Jeremy was looking at him again, but this time he was looking  _him_ over. There was space of silence. Then Jeremy shrugged. 

     "... Right. Anyway, I need your help." Jeremy restated, and JD nodded, going to sit down on the rusty bench their bus stop had. He puffed in and out more smoke casually, holding his cigarette off to the side for a moment. 

     "Uh-huh," he responded tonelessly. Jeremy instinctively rubbed the back of his neck. 

     "Yeah. What I did at lunch was fun, but I realized by the end of the day that well..." Jeremy fell silent, wondering how he managed to call whatever lunch had been 'Fun'. 

     "She's even more pissed," JD filled in lazily. "Good performance, by the way." He got up from the bench, slid his lighter back into his pocket, dropped his cigarette, and ground the bud into the concrete. Jeremy's hand was still on his neck, acutely aware of how his hairs stood on end as another breeze hit him. 

     "I'm guessing you don't want to be anywhere near Chandler, right?" JD said, to which Jeremy nodded, still slightly meek. JD took a breath. 

     "Well then. I think that can be managed... yes, it can... how well do you know Westerberg, Jeremy?" JD added suddenly. Jeremy flinched back from the sudden question, then shook his head. JD sighed. 

     "Can't say I'm surprised. But that's going to make things a little more difficult. I have places you can go - hole-in-the-wall places to hide - already in my head... where's your last class before lunch?" Jeremy jumped a little less this time. He told Jeremy the number of his Art teacher's room, and JD asked him the number of his last period and when Jeremy told him, JD frowned in thought. Awkwardly, Jeremy watched him, uncertainty over what to do filling him. His face got red again. 

     At last, JD turned to him. 

     "I think I have a plan," he told Jeremy, still frowning. "It's risky, but where your last class before lunch is it's the only other option." Jeremy looked at JD expectantly, face refusing to not be beat-red. 

     "What is it?" he asked. JD was still frowning as he looked at Jeremy. 

     "The boiler room under the gym," he said. Jeremy looked at him like he'd grown a second, more emo head. 

     "Wait, seriously?" Jeremy asked incredulously. "I'll die of heat stroke." JD narrowed his eyes slightly. 

     "It's that or the lunch room," he said, "And no. Don't risk going to one of your classes. Chandler will probably know your classes soon, it'll be too risky. Unless you feel like accusing her of using sexual favors to get what she wants again?" At that, Jeremy gaped at JD, and his face went a distinct crimson. 

     "I-I - erm - uh..." Jeremy placed a hand on his heavily flushed brow, "No. I don't feel like doing that again." JD looked him over again. 

     "Then we agree on that spot. Now, as for after-school..." 

 

* * *

 

    When his alarm clock blared on Tuesday morning, Jeremy turned it off like someone would smooth their hair on their execution day. With bags under his eyes and a tense look about him, Jeremy left his room with a ball of clothes that included his cardigan (because he wanted something comfortable to wear that day, at the least), a pair of jeans, a shirt with horizontal brown and white stripes. All of the garments were those he wore when he didn't want worry as much about his appearance. They were like a comfort food. And he needed comfort foods at the moment.

     Jeremy's shower went by with him going over the plan JD had put together for him. He'd stop using his locker, for one; it was really surprising that Chandler hadn't found his locker by that point. It wouldn't really be much of an issue, as a lot of students walked around with their things. He was a lucky one who had both his last period and the period before lunch relatively close to his locker. He'd stay back in art class, and when he was sure no-one was watching, he'd make a beeline for the boiler room and eat his lunch (which he'd have to pack from then on) there. Getting out of school would involve him using a back-exit from the school, and then booking it to his bus, hopefully joining the crowd of kids with classes near that entrance. If all of it worked, he wouldn't have to worry about the Heathers as much. 

     "JEREMY!" 

     His father's voice carried through the door and the sound of the shower running so loudly that Jeremy jumped, slipping on the shower curtain and falling face-first, slamming his head against the lip of his bathtub. For a moment Jeremy was dazed. 

     "JEREMY HEERE! GET OUT OF THE SHOWER NOW!" Jeremy snapped back into focus, and he shouted back an 'I'm working on it!' to the door to the bathroom and carefully turned the shower off. He slid the curtain past him and got out, fingers wrinkled, and dried himself with a towel so fast he was worried he'd get a rug-burn. He didn't worry about it overmuch, as his head was throbbing from when he hit his head. The mirror was still foggy with condensation, so he wasn't sure, but Jeremy was pretty sure that he had a black eye. Blushing, he dressed, not bothering with his hair, and opened the door to the bathroom. 

     His father stood there, holding Jeremy's backpack by one strap and a paper-towel-wrapped breakfast burrito. His eyes were narrowed slightly, giving his whiskery-haired face a slightly comical look. He shoved both the breakfast burrito and backpack into Jeremy's startled arms. 

     "Go." was all he said, and Jeremy nodded, face flushed intensely, putting his backpack straps over his shoulders and un-wrapping his burrito, biting off a fourth of it as he rushed out of his house. His father gave him a hasty goodbye, and said something else that sounded like 'UrGee' to Jeremy's frantic brain. He didn't wave back, and he rushed over to his stop, breathless as it pulled up to his stop when he'd just arrived. He took one last bite rom his breakfast burrito and tossed it aside, getting on the bus as with his chest burning. Jeremy stumbled slightly as he found a seat, deliberately picking one that could only fit one person, and flopped down into it. 

     He let out long sigh and ran a hand through his unruly locks. He'd made it. Part one, go-to-school, was done. Now all he had to do was survive the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

     Jeremy joined the line queuing for his first period with the strange weight of his backpack and eyes that searched the hallway like a hawk. He really didn't want to have to deal with Heather Duke again; she gave him shivers. The way she spoke to him was a mix of sneering arrogance and low wolfishness, which was something he'd even do a marathon to avoid. he gripped his backpack straps tightly and with a tense lip, and noted that the three girls he'd nearly bumped into on his first trek to Mr. Krikor's class giving him sideways glances as he they passed him.

     Jeremy picked up bits of conversation from students, which he found surprisingly difficult, as it seemed that his mere presence had quieted the people around him. Jeremy tried flattening his hair again, blowing a stray strand away from his forehead, and then he swore he glimpsed a gaunt-faced girl brush past him. He blinked and  stared after the girl, who cast him final smile as she turned the corner of the hall. Jeremy sighed heavily, glaring at the ground, and some grout that had seeped through the floor tiles back into the floor. Someone coughed behind him. 

     Jeremy's head swiveled to see who it was, and saw that it was simply a sickly-looking boy with some booger dribbling out of his nose. He didn't notice Jeremy as he quickly withdrew a crumpled cleanex from the pocket of his concrete-gray sweat shirt and sneezing loudly into it. A girl next to him looked affronted. Jeremy shrugged nonchalantly, though internally he was relieved. The person in front of him began to move, and he smiled a bit. No Duke yet. He heard a snippet of conversation as the boy behind him apologized to the affronted girl in an embarrassed manner. 

     "You know, Heather, I'm surprised that he was even on his bus," came a lofty voice down the hall. Jeremy and the rest of students' heads swiveled toward it. There stood three girls, arrayed like a tiny pincer with Heather Duke at the forefront, strutting down the hall. Something in Jeremy's stomach dropped. He gave the person in front of him a nudge, and they shot him an annoyed look, but moved forward nonetheless, grumbling about inconsiderate geeks. Jeremy glanced nervously in Duke's direction, but she was wrapped up in a conversation with her two friends, who reminded Jeremy of vultures. 

     He got into Mr. Krikor's class and into his seat with little trouble, but saw Duke's eyes find him before she sat down. Her grin was wicked, and it made something in Jeremy want to got into the fettle position, but he focused instead on getting out a pencil and paper as his history teacher began to get up. Jeremy got a loose-leaf pile of papers six strong just when Mr. Krikor began speaking.

 

* * *

 

     Jeremy's dominant hand felt like it was going to fall off by the time Mr. Krikor finished talking. Jeremy wasn't sure how he managed to speak as fast as he did, and he swore he heard the man wheezing a bit as the bell rang. He walked over to his desk and downed half of the water bottle that sat there in moments, and Jeremy stared for a moment as people left around him. He stuffed his notes in his backpack and tossed his pencil (which was considerably more dull now) in with the rest of his other stuff and zipped his backpack. He slid the straps over his shoulders and rose from his seat, seeing Mr. Krikor produce another water bottle from under his desk as he left. He had just crossed the threshold when-

     "You're a tricky one, you know that?" said Duke, who was leaning against a locker. Her hair was just as immaculate as it had been the previous day, and her grin would've fit right in with the wicked witch of the west. She pushed herself off the locker as Jeremy's face flushed. 

     "You've lasted longer than you should have, Heere," Duke stated coolly, looking at Jeremy's black eye intensely, "And don't count on it much longer." Jeremy blinked hard, wondering just how Duke managed to be so unsettling, before she brushed past him, sashaying away once more. He shook his head and made his way to Mr. Fedralson's class. 

     He got more second glances than he wanted to count from other kids, and his blush was still firmly entrenched when he joined the line outside Mr. Fedralson's class. He must've taken longer than he normally did, because the line began to shuffle into the classroom only seconds after Jeremy joined the queing students. Jeremy was thankful of that, but he only a moment after he sat down at his desk Page gracefull slid into hers. Jeremy took a rather sudden and conspicuous interest with the zipper of his backpack. 

     Jeremy had a hard time focusing. He hoped he got the overall gist of what Mr. Fedralson was saying, but if he was honest with himself, the fact that Page kept glancing at him over and over again through the corner of his eye stopped him from getting even that. So when the bell finally rang and Jeremy was given his homework, he sighed heavily. 

     When his fourth period ended, Jeremy put away his pencil, which he'd re-sharpened during his third period, was again dull. He looked down at the sea shell he was supposed to be drawing, which looked more like a horn to Jeremy, and turned it in with a resigned sigh. Then he bustled out of the room into the crowded, loud hallway which was full of students; some were taking to each other, some were attempting to get things from their lockers without being trampled, and the rest of them were all individually trying to push to the front of the crowd to get to lunch. But none were going down the staircase that was at the far end of the hall. 

     Jeremy hoped he wasn't too suspicious as he went for the staircase which he knew lead to the boiler room. Almost immediately as he went down, Jeremy felt the temperature increase. It was stuffy and humid as he descended farther down, and sweat began beading up soon after that. Jeremy bit his lip nervously, feeling like his cardigan was a thick winter jacket in the middle of a desert. He decided to stop halfway down the stairs and set his bag down beside him. He tried to eat his lunch, but the boiler room was torture. When the end of lunch bell rang, Jeremy looked sadly at his sandwich, which drooped pitifully, the cheese half-melted, and the bread grainy. Jeremy shook his head, put his food inside the brown bag he packed his lunch in which was stained like it had been sweating.

     He got strange looks the rest of the day. Even his deodorant couldn't stop the stench. Jeremy was relieved when he got into his seventh period, gym, Jeremy got the chance to change into cleaner clothes. He stuffed his original clothes - sweat-stained cardigan and all - into a free compartment in his backpack, and did the least amount of work so his last hope for decent-smelling clothes. Eighth period passed with Jeremy thanking god the teacher chose to have them watch a video with a companion worksheet. The video wasn't even that bad, if Jeremy was honest with himself. Though trying to decipher the difference between DNA and RNA through the sheer amount of effects it incorporated was a hell of it's own, Jeremy also decided.

     He left eighth period raised spirits. He didn't encounter Page at all, nor the pair of girls from the previous day. He weaved his way through the temperamental throngs of students easier. He had a full-blown grin as he turned the corner that to the Westerberg locker rooms. The hall itself was forked in two directions, with the fork to Jeremy's left leading to the locker rooms and the fork to the right lead to a gravel path around the school. Jeremy half way to the fork in the hall when he heard voices.

     "You haven't seen him, Heather?" that was Duke's voice. Jeremy froze. His eyes darted around wildly, and eventually found the entrances to the bathrooms. "He was in my first period," Jeremy heard an angry huff. 

     "Maybe he's ditched," came another voice. It was blithely chipper in a way that made Jeremy uncomfortable. His eyes darted to the door to the boys' bathroom. "I mean, he's pretty much screwed anyway, right?" 

     "You better be right, Heather," Chandler said, "For his sake." Jeremy knew he couldn't waste another second. With the clacking of heels against tile only feet away, Jeremy dived into the bathroom so fast that the bathroom door hit the wall with an almighty  _smack!_

     The hallway was silent. Utterly. Jeremy hid around the corner of the bathroom door, glimpsing Duke, McNamara, and Chandler for a moment as it closed. 

     "What was that?" even through doors, Jeremy mused, Chandler managed to sound entitled. 

     "I dunno," that was Duke, "Maybe Kurt got touchy with another cheerleader?" Jeremy thought that that wasn't a bad idea. Especially since he was one corner away from social annihilation. 

     "The  _one_ day we stay back," Chandler said dramatically, "And the school's already falling apart. Come on-" Chandler fell silent. Jeremy was confused. 

     "VERONICA!" Jeremy jumped so bad he lost his balance and fell face-first to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, head throbbing, and set up behind the corner again. 

     "There you are," Chandler growled, though Jeremy hadn't the faintest idea of who Veronica was. "Don't do that again, Veronica, or it's back to loser-Ville with you. Got it?" 

     "Y-yeah! I'm sorry!" Jeremy vaguely recognized that voice. He thought he may have heard it before, maybe the last week, but wasn't sure. 

     "Whatever," Chandler said, and Jeremy could hear the eye roll in her words, "Now come on. It's high time you get shown that we don't fuck around." Jeremy didn't move until the sound of clacking stopped. He waited another minute before risking a glance out of the bathroom. he opened the door a crack, seeing the hall empty, and after checking behind him to make sure nobody else had been in the bathroom, he darted out and wasted no time getting around the corner. He sprinted back to the buses in a stunned manner, just barely making it to his bus. 

     There was another Heather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Hi
> 
> *laughs at self, then facepalms.*
> 
> This took waaay to long to finish. Like, I probably would've gotten it done sooner had I not started reading the Percy Jackson series and started thinking about fics for that... oh, and not being so lazy. That'd definitely be part of it. Still, though. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The Jeremy/JD interactions were still interesting to write, as was the ever-illustrious asshole that is Heather Chandler. And if everything works out, this'll be done some time this year. When? Like hell I'm promising something like that! 
> 
> ...Can you tell I'm a bit excited now?
> 
> Any comments, kudos, bookmarks, or other responses would be greatly appreciated. Also (I swear this is the last time) the thought struck me to continue my other story, Fruits Of Your Labor - if you haven't read it yet, feel free to dismiss this part, by the way - but for those who have, opinions on it would be nice.


	10. Comfort Food Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some revelations in this one.

      **Jeremy was** still slightly dazed as he got on the bus. His ears were still throbbing like he'd blasted music in them for hours on end, and he'd never wished for the kids around him to shut up more than at that moment. Stumbling slightly, Jeremy couldn't find any seats that only sat one person. He grit his teeth, half because of his head-bang against the wall and half because he had the very sudden and intense urge to kick something again. _Why_ did this have to happen to him? Especially now? Jeremy clenched his fists moodily and flopped down into the seat, landing right on a spot where duct tape had been used to repair a rip in it. It stuck slightly, so he scooted father toward the window. He set his backpack over the spot resentfully, and sighed heavily, cupping his chin with his hands, looking out the window darkly. 

     Students were milling about the entrance, getting on buses, joking, and overall making Jeremy feel even more alone. He hoped he'd've seen JD on the bus, at the very least to know that he had someone in his corner nearby, but he'd had no such luck. He watched Kurt and Ram shove their way through the entrance, using their burly arms and shoulders to shove kids out of the way. It was strange, Jeremy reflected, how that looked when he couldn't hear the sound. He saw their mouths move, but it was like he was watching an oddly-done silent film, as Kurt and Ram, while athletic, looked slightly comical with how they waved their arms to make way. And then he saw them. 

     The Heathers, Chandler in the lead strode forward through the now rather large gap in the crowd. Chandler's face was still contorted in a sneer, though it looked more annoyed than arrogant. Jeremy grinned slightly, satisfied smally that he was actually getting to her. Duke stood to Chandler's left, bottle-green clothing reminding Jeremy of someone who'd overdressed for Saint Patrick's Day. She had a small frown, and Jeremy hoped she wouldn't see him. McNamara was at Chandler's right, smiling broadly despite (Or very possibly because of, Jeremy realized) the tense looks on the other students' faces. Her canary-yellow outfit had Jeremy's mind conjuring up a particularly socially oblivious banana, which almost brought a smile to his lips. And then he saw who stood next to McNamara.

     This one, whom Jeremy guessed was the Veronica he'd heard of only a few minutes prior, was putting on a calm face, but her eyes gave away her disquiet; her color choice was of various blues, with her socks and shoes being the only exceptions to that rule. A blue backpack which Jeremy presumed was hers was held Kurt, whose straps Veronica looked wistfully toward, causing Duke to shoot her disdainful glances every so often. Jeremy vaguely wondered if he'd looked like that during his time hanging around Rich, but quickly swept that thought aside to stop the avalanche of memories that would bring back. Kurt and Ram parted for the Heathers, though they shot each other conspiratorial glances when Veronica passed them. Veronica took her bag and proceeded to grip it's straps with white-knuckles before Chandler said something that made her jump (bumping to Duke on the way) and desist. Jeremy followed Chandler's form until it was out of sight, and he felt his gut tighten a bit. He didn't know why there was another member to Chandler's entourage, but he knew it would probably mean bad news for him.

     "It's rude to ignore a girl, you know," said a voice from over Jeremy's shoulder. He jumped in his seat, nearly slamming his head into the window and stopping himself an inch short of it. He took a moment to recover himself, letting out a calming breath. He turned around and his suspicions about who'd decided to sit next to him were, much to his chagrin, confirmed. Page sat next to him, eyes narrowed slightly, and Jeremy swore that when he heard the honking of a jeep's horn she shot the opposite window a dirty look. Despite the questionability of that event, Jeremy knew for certain that out of the corner of her eye she was shooting is backpack affronted looks. He thought she looked significantly less appealing when she was glaring.  

     Page peered at him, her eyes taking in his face and rapidly narrowing on the spot where he'd hit the shower. Jeremy glanced away, seeing that slightly manic intensity he'd seen in Duke's eyes in hers. 

     "Where'd you get that?" she asked, pointing a pale finger unceremoniously at Jeremy's black eye. Shrugging in a way he prayed was nonchalant, Jeremy shook his head disinterestedly.

     "Fell in the shower," Page's frown got deeper. Her hair shifted slightly as she looked over Jeremy's shoulder, seeing Kurt and Ram saunter off cockily, students darting out of their way desperately. 

     "It wasn't Kurt and Ram, was it?" she asked with concern. The kind Jeremy wanted to hear, but when Page showed it it felt like a sick sort of insult; it was the type Jeremy had heard Michael use whenever he got hurt or staggered in his house with a large purpling mark over his face; but Michael was someone Jeremy had known for twelve years, whereas Page had barely passed the few day threshold (It didn't help either that Jeremy got a slightly stalker-ish vibe from her). The teen bit his lip and shook his head resolutely. 

     "No, It wasn't. I fell in the shower." he told her firmly. For a moment Page looked like she wanted to argue, but in the end she let the issue drop. There was a small silence between the two in which Jeremy began turning toward the window, in vain hoping the conversation would stop then, unzipping his backpack in an attempt to find his phone. Then Page piped up again.

     "So... how about the new Heather?" she said. Jeremy tensed. Very quickly he relaxed himself, and he again shrugged.

     "Uh..." Jeremy started. Quickly however, he trailed off, uncertainty making his voice indecisively shrink back into his throat. Page tilted her head to the side, like a doctor does when they're searching for something wrong. Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, averting eye contact to his backpack.

     "It's stressing you out," She stated. Jeremy nodded slowly, vaguely wondering if there was any way he could maneuver out of the situation. Luckily for him, the bus hit a speed bump, causing it to lurch hard, throwing Jeremy off-kilter and toward Page; in a similar way, Page lost her balance and went tumbling out of her seat. She let out a small scream as she went falling hard toward the floor of the bus, her head a few inches from the ground when she felt something gripping her left arm. She craned her head up, seeing a startled Jeremy looking down at her. For a moment both of them were silent, Jeremy doing everything in his power to not look at Page, while the latter was fighting back a grin. 

     Awkwardly, Jeremy pulled her up, and quickly retracted his hand back to his side, feeling blood rush to his face like a flash flood. He looked away, collecting his backpack from the floor where it had fallen off, noticing that his phone had fallen out. He picked up the hopelessly outdated blackberry, and Page's eyes locked on it immediately. For a moment, she began to raise an eyebrow, before breaking and clutching at her stomach, snorting loudly. Conspicuously, she noticed, the phone disappeared into Jeremy's pocket a moment later. He began checking his backpack for anything else that might've fallen out, yet failing utterly at containing his blush. It took Page a bit to recover from her giggling fit, during which Jeremy found the position of the copy of  _Moby Dick_ he'd received in English that day wasn't quite good enough. He glanced out the window and saw his stop coming up. Relief flooded through him, and he slung his backpack over his shoulders as the bus pulled in. He murmured a quick "S'cuse me" as he left the bus, seeing another person get out. 

     Jeremy sent one last look at the bus as it drove away, seeing Page's bony visage grinning at him from her seat. He looked toward the ground only a second after he made eye contact, but the damage had been done. He felt a tap on his shoulder and jumped, squeaking quietly, seeing JD wearing a small, sly smile. It screamed "Is-there-something-you-haven't-told-me?", making Jeremy defiantly shake his head. 

     "No. No way." he said, but JD continued smiling. 

     "Sure," he said, but then his smile fell away so fast it was almost like it had never been there to begin with. "Just don't let it go to your head." Jeremy shook his head, huffing exasperatedly. 

     "No." he reiterated, "I'm not into her." JD seemed to be looking through Jeremy for a moment, his lidded eyes far too old for Jeremy's liking. A beat of silence passed, and then, like he was talking to a child, JD spoke. 

     "They say that in the beginning," he said, "and then it's three weeks later and they're off making out at the back of the school, leaving their friend behind." Bitterness seeped into JD's words, so Jeremy thought that "Friend" was code for "Me". A vague musing about how much JD had been through flickered across Jeremy's thoughts, and then JD broke into his wonderings abruptly. 

     "But that's a topic for later. There's a new Heather," JD paused. "and judging from your face, you already know." Jeremy nodded, and he told JD about his stay in the bathroom, to which the taller teen frowned for a moment.

     "First off, that'll make a good story at parties if you ever go to one. Secondly, you have to be careful from now on; I don't know any other way for you to get out of that school for now, but that was a close call. And thirdly-" 

     "I'm not into Page," Jeremy cut in, to which JD blinked in surprise. Then, for a moment, he smiled slyly again. 

     "So you're on a first-name basis with her, too?" Jeremy looked bashfully at the sidewalk, feeling like his cheeks were so hot they could start a fire.

     "But, that's besides the point I was going to make. I know the new Heather." JD said, which had Jeremy staring at him like he'd grown a second head, and then from that head had come two more heads, both emo-er than the last. JD, for the first time, looked slightly embarrassed. 

     "She's in my English class," he explained with uncharacteristic speed, "I sit near her." Jeremy frowned. 

     "Where is that?" JD was silent for a small space, cupping his chin and trying to look more in thought than he was uncertain, and almost succeeding; Jeremy, though, saw the look in his eyes and wasn't convinced of anything other than that what JD would say was bad news. 

     "Room 275," he sighed. Jeremy felt his mouth go dry. His art class was room 280, which was only a corner away from room 275. 

     "You're kidding." he said dumbly, jaw slacking. JD looked at him grimly. 

     "No." he replied, to which Jeremy splayed his arms out in front of him. He uttered several starts to sentences and curses, each of which he stopped himself from saying at the last moment. At last he settled for placing a hand on his face and running down his visage, kicking at the pavement, sending a loose bit of sidewalk skipping into the forest. He sighed heavily, wondering if he hated the fact that a Heather was a corner away from him more than he did learning how to read Hebrew. 

     "This.. you're... argh!" Jeremy glared at the ground kicking at it once more, sending another pebble of sidewalk into the forest. 

     "If it's any help, the new Heather is really socially awkward," JD tried, to which Jeremy shot him a dirty look. 

     "Not helping." he said through clenched teeth, before running a hand through his hair. He glared at the ground again before looking back up at JD miserably. 

     "I need comfort food again."

     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya. It's been a bit, but we're finally at what I'd consider this story's mid-point. Things are gonna get interesting from here, I hope. Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are appreciated. 'Till next time.


	11. Meet-and-awkwardness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a plot point no-one would ever have expected. Totally.

      **September passed** into October with Jeremy settling in to a routine. 

     He'd get up, shower, shave, and get dressed. Finding a nice single-person seat on the bus was next, preferably for Jeremy where there was already people filling the seats around it. He gave the day bonus points for being not-terrible if he managed to get the last seat in that section of the bus. First period remained mostly stagnant, with it being a pattern of Jeremy doin his best to ignore the evil looks Duke would shoot him over the class whilst trying to keep up with Mr. Krikor's rapid-fire lectures. The best days in that class, ironically, were the days when they had the tests, as Duke actually focused on the work they got instead of how best to communicate "I-see-you-as-dirt" through her eyes. Math was much the same way, except Jeremy spent that time trying to fight down the bashfulness that Page's corner-eye-looks gave him. His next two periods were write-offs, as were his last periods, and he thanked god that every day since Veronica had become a Heather, Chandler hadn't decided for them to stay back. Jeremy had noticed, to his perturbment that he got more female attention in art class than he had received before everything that had happened with Chandler.  

     But as he ate lunch in the boiler room on October's third Friday, he allowed himself a small smile. His situation, while he knew it would probably seem horribly twisted to the vast majority of people, and was avoidance behavior to an extreme amount, was his pattern. Just as how he'd noticed that JD's voice seemed to pick up whenever Veronica came up in their conversations, or how he had that glazed-over admiration in his eyes whenever he spoke about her - which Jeremy didn't let him live it down, either. JD quickly came to avoid the Heather like a plague when they hung out. Jeremy exhaled sharply out of his nose as the memory of JD honest-to-god blushing came into his head.  He bit down on the last of his peanut and butter sandwich and began to lean back when the small of his back bumped against the edge of a stair. He jerked away from it, almost dropping his lunch, just catching it at the last moment. Jeremy carefully withdrew the bags of lays he'd packed and opened it. 

     As he ate his way chip-by-chip through the bag, he thought back to the second time he and JD had gone to the Seven-eleven. He remembered that the cashier had placed a bookmark in the middle of the book. Jeremy first assumed that he'd simply been getting father in the book, but when he disappeared into the bathroom again he'd raised an eyebrow. He then got into an argument with JD over whether sour cream and onion was better than barbecue as a chip flavor when the cashier walked out of the bathroom, with the bookmark in the same place and the book shut. His argument with JD halted as he failed to stop his laughter. JD had to pull him out of the store, with Jeremy failing to turn his giggles into coughs. Never once did the cashier so much as glance at them, as he quickly pulled out a sci-fi novel from under the counter. It really wasn't that funny, Jeremy reflected, but he'd been so emotionally high-strung that something like that completely broke him. He continued to let out sporadic giggles until JD threw a spider-web covered branch at him. Jeremy desisted. 

     Jeremy reached into his bag again, expecting another chip, but getting air. He looked down and saw crumbs at the bottom. Frowning, Jeremy stuffed the bag back into his lunch bag, and got up. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and ascended until he was in the doorway of the boiler room. Carefully, he poked his around the corner of the threshold. the hallway was soundless, with his art classroom being empty and no students entering or exiting it. After a few moments, Jeremy was satisfied that it was empty, and he slipped into the hallway, hand on the wall the entire time so he didn't fall. Page wouldn't believe him when he said that, but in fact, his bruised cheek that day _hadn't_ come from some dramatic confrontation with Kurt and Ram, making that particular Monday significantly worse than the others. Jeremy straightened and, as quiet as he could manage, made his way down the hall.

     The silence, to Jeremy, was slightly unnerving; it meant that no-one was near him, but there wasn't exactly a guarantee that he wouldn't run into anybody either, as well.  Normally the halls were pretty quiet around lunch, considering that the rule was that if you bought school lunch - which to Jeremy's small comfort most students did - you had to eat in the lunch room. Of course, there were those like himself, who brought their own, or the portion of kids who bought their lunch off the school campus. That wasn't allowed, of course, but Jeremy knew - and he was pretty sure most of the staff knew - that it was essentially pointless trying to enforce the rule however. It had become a well-seated paranoia for Jeremy that he'd be making his way to fifth period one day and then Bam! The Heathers would just appear in front of him without explanation, smelling like greasy salad and obscene amounts of perfume. 

      As he passed room 275, Jeremy looked in; the class was empty, save the teacher, a large man in a white dress shirt, brown slacks and suspenders, and who had the balding hair of a man just beginning to approach his twilight years. He was talking to a girl who was around Chandler's height, in a buttoned blue blazer and a skirt of ditto color, save a lighter shade being present. Her face was screwed up in concentration as she read over a paper, and Jeremy made out gray stockings going up to her shins. Then his eyes found her face, and Jeremy's heart stopped for a second. He was looking at Veronica Sawyer. 

     Part of him felt angry; he puts all this effort into hiding himself from the Heathers, and then on _accident_ one of them is literal feet away from him, the only barrier between them being a few-inch-thick slab of wood, with a window and doorknob that Jeremy wanted to melt down desperately. And then there was the part of him that immediately began to panic at the mere sight of Veronica, to run and not look back. This part went into overdrive when Veronica looked up from the paper, then handed it back to the teacher, a finger jabbing triumphantly at something on it. The teacher looked at it for a moment, for a split-second frowning; then he gave it back to Veronica, shaking his head in that "I'm-sorry-to-say-you're-wrong" way that always made Jeremy's teeth grind together. Veronica, it seemed, didn't appreciate that either, as her eyes went wide and her face flooded, for an instant, with anger - before it died and she took a step back from the teacher dejectedly.

     "Mr. Heere?" came a brittle voice from down the hall.

     Jeremy's head swiveled toward the source of the sound, his face paling in horror as he saw Ms. Fleming standing there, holding a small binder that was overstuffed with papers in both arms, it being crystal clear to the teen that she was having a tough time carrying it. Jeremy glanced back into room 275 and saw, with mounting panic, that Veronica was looking right at him. He felt an all-too-familiar warmth spread up his face, and he knew he had to take some sort of action.

     There wasn't any classroom he could go into that wouldn't send him straight Veronica's way; at the same time, Ms. Fleming would undoubtedly ask why he was out in the hall, when he should've been in the lunch room. And his art teacher had a sub that day - a sub who had left the class with the students after the end of fourth period to go to the break room, which meant Jeremy couldn't spin some tale about needing to finish work.  He knew hiding wasn't a good idea, but what other choice did he have? He'd ust have to wait them out. Or, more specifically, he'd have to wait Veronica out. The teen realized he'd have to be quick about it, and even though he had long legs, Jeremy wasn't confident He'd get there in time. Still, though, it wasn't like he much of a choice.

     So he spun on his heel, cardigan flapping behind him, and bolted down the hall. As he turned, Jeremy saw Veronica opening the door, gaping at him slightly, her paper drooping forward over the clenched fist she held it in. He tried not to think about that too much as he sprinted down the hall, just then realizing how long it was. Vaguely, he heard Ms. Fleming's struggled "Mr. Heere!" of surprise as he ran. A few paces behind him, he heard Veronica just beginning to come after him, and Ms. Fleming's shocked spluttering. He ran faster, clearing the corner without looking back. Jeremy made a beeline for the Boiler Room staircase, hearing a "Wait!" from behind him with unnerving clarity. The teen crossed the staircase threshold, making his way down the stairs faster than he thought he expected, jumping down the last few steps. 

     That was his mistake. 

     He landed poorly, twisting his ankle losing his balance and face planting onto the floor. His backpack went flying a foot or two near a corner as he  Jeremy yelped as he fell, his brain just beginning to string the thought "Put-your-arms-in-front-of-your-face" together when he hit the floor. There was a loud  _Smack!_ And pain shot through Jeremy's head. For a moment, he lay there, dazed, mind attempting to go over everything that had just happened. When it hit the part where Veronica showed up, Jeremy jumped and rolled over to face the ceiling. He sat up slightly and looked around, horror paralyzing him for a second when he saw Veronica's silhouette in the doorway. His breath got caught somewhere near his voice box; more heat surged up Jeremy's cheeks, and he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Veronica made her way down the staircase, which snapped Jeremy back into panicked action. He struggled to his feet, staggering back several paces, putting his back up against the boiler as Veronica stepped off the staircase.  _This is the end,_ Jeremy thought. He'd had a good run, he supposed, but it seemed life decided that a curveball be thrown his way. 

     A second passed. Jeremy tried to get his thoughts in order,

     Veronica was just... standing there?

     "Hey, uh... you okay?" she asked, voice far smaller than Jeremy expected. She sounded nearly as nervous as he was. And that was something that really made Jeremy stare. Veronica took a cautious step forward, to which Jeremy pressed himself more firmly up against the boiler. Veronica froze midway through her next step, carefully drawing her foot back, muttering, "Alrighty then" under her breath. She looked at him and cleared her throat. 

     "I'm not gonna hurt you," she said, "I, err, I just wanted to talk." her tone should have been comforting, but all it did was make Jeremy more nervous; after all, he had all-too ingrained memories of what a voice like that normally meant from a popular girl. And especially from one he was at social conflict with. He gulped, voice still hiding around his larynx. Veronica stayed silent for several moments, her eyes studying his face in the dark. 

     "Are you hurt? That fall sounded bad," she said, and Jeremy's expression at last changed from utter terror. He frowned, furrowing his brow, narrowing his eyes at the girl across the room. There was... concern in her voice? He shook his head at the thought, suspicion beginning to replace his fear. His breathing slowed a bit, but his head swirled with thoughts; he was seriously doubting that Veronica really cared at all about whether he'd just gotten a concussion or not. She was one of Chandler's aide de camps, and Jeremy was about 99% confident that anyone willing to join her little posse wasn't in the saintly slice of the social pie chart. His back began to feel sweat from the boiler.

     "I can call the nurse," Veronica told him, "I-if you stepped into the light I could... see it better." There it was again. The nervousness. Why in god's name would she be stuttering at all? The teen had thought from the start that Veronica certainly didn't  _look_ like a mean girl - after all, Jeremy was half-certain he saw a pimple somewhere on her face - but that line of reasoning wasn't one his go at life had supported overmuch. His frown deepened. This could, of course, all be a ploy to bring him right to Chandler; it'd be too easy. It'd be so simple to convince him that she was leading to help when her real plan was to lead him to hell instead (Though needles had always given him the shivers). 

     There was more silence between him and Veronica, which Jeremy spent in an internal squabble amongst his thoughts and the former attempted to come up with something to say. Jeremy chewed his lip for several seconds before cocking his head to the side, in a gesture to make himself appear in a far more measured calm than he really was, his eyes narrowed at Veronica in distrust.

     "N-no thanks," he said, mentally cursing his own stuttering. He stiffened himself and pushed off the boiler. "I'm fine." Veronica watched in slightly offended silence as Jeremy collected his backpack, saying nothing as he left the boiler room, limping away, leaving her alone. For a few minutes, she stood there, mulling over what to do, letting out a surprised sound as the bell for sixth period rang. She turned around, realizing she'd dropped the essay she was trying to get points back on in her chase after Jeremy. She spun on her heel and began to make her way up the Boiler Room staircase, glancing back as she did so; in the scant light there was, Veronica saw a small, ruby smear across the floor. She blinked hard. Part of her wanted to go, but the rest of her was frozen.  

     She didn't move until the bell rang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Looks up from laptop, and blushes*
> 
> Oh. 
> 
> This is a bit awkward isn't it? Its only been... two and a half months. *Shivers*
> 
> Sorry for not updating in a while. School decided to hit my spare time in the face and laziness on my part is just plain laziness. This probably isn't very satisfying, but at least I have chapter 12 finished already and chapter 13 in the works. 
> 
> Anyways. I'm sorry for keeping you guys waiting so long. Any kudo/comment or bookmark will be duly noted.


	12. Bud Light and Baby Photos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy plans for his confrontation with Chandler.

**Jeremy thought** that the day couldn't get much worse. 

     Getting your secrets blown open by chance? Bad. Dealing with the stress of what's gonna happen? Even more worse. 

     "It's so... argh!" Jeremy threw up his arms in exasperation, nearly hitting one of the railings of JD's front steps. He'd spent the entire walk there in a mix of indignant raging and awkward silences when he lost focus and realized what he was doing. He always started back up again, as it turned out; if there was one thing he hated more than awkward silences, it was those awkward silences with the emotional impression of a brick JD was pulling off. 

     JD slid the key into his door, letting Jeremy glower at the dying flower gardens of the other town houses around them. As he pushed open the door, he glanced back, seeing Jeremy had taken to glaring at a clump of daffodils. He made out the news playing down the hall. The caster was talking about a car accident that had happened in a highway. JD rolled his eyes. 

     "'Argh' indeed," he said, and Jeremy sulked up the steps. "Now come on, I think I have something that'll make you feel better." Jeremy followed him, a flicker of curiosity in his face as JD lead him down the hall. Halfway there, Jeremy stopped. 

     "Wait." he frowned, cocking his head to the left. "What about... y'know, your dad?" he added in a whisper. JD shot him a raised eyebrow from over his shoulder. It was like he was saying,  _You think I care?_ Jeremy hesitated, but just as he was coming around to the idea, JD turned, grabbing his wrist. He pulled Jeremy into the living room as the the former felt one of his oh-so-convenient blushes. He stuttered incoherently for a few moments, stopping only when he saw JD's father. 

     How someone came to the conclusion that suit and bud light went together at all well mystified Jeremy, but JD's dad had certainly come to that conclusion; he sat in a reclining chair whose leather looked more expensive than the rest of the room; a shabby couch was next to his recliner, with the upholstering coming off and fluff poking out of the cushions. And, true to his word, two suitcases were there, set against the couch unceremoniously and looking just as shabby. The man himself looked like JD, if he actually gained weight from all the slushies he had; his hair, eyes, and nose were identical to his son's. He glanced up from the laptop sitting on his legs as Jeremy nearly tripped over himself. 

     "Hey," he said, halfway to going back to his work when his eyes shot up again, settling on Jeremy. "Who's the newbie?" Jeremy saw JD's hand clench slightly as he steadied himself. 

     "A friend, dad," JD answered stiffly. "You know, the one I mentioned a few weeks ago?" It seemed apparent that Mr. Dean didn't know, and he shook his head. 

     "Sorry, I was busy that day," Mr. Dean gave Jeremy a once-over, "Must've forgotten." JD didn't look amused, and snorted like a dragon being tickled. 

     "Of course you were," he muttered as Mr. Dean (To Jeremy's mild surprise) set his laptop precariously down on the arm of his chair and got up. "You had explosions to film." 

     Mr. Dean, undeterred, walked over to Jeremy and grabbed his hand. He pumped it forcefully, then stepped back. 

     "Well," he said, "This is the one stirring up all that trouble at your school, right, son?" JD nodded, another snarky remark leaving him as the newscaster moved on to the weather. Mr. Dean walked over to the TV and changed the channel, going through at least a dozen before reaching the History Channel. 

      _"Up next,_ _an analysis of the Manhattan Project,"_ The TV said,  _"So stay tuned!"_

Mr. Dean seemed satisfied with that, and turned back to Jeremy.

     "You need a drink, kid," he said, then looked at JD. "You remember that story I told you before, son? About my English teacher?" JD, again, gave a nod, though it was clear to Jeremy he was seething.

     "Well, my English teacher from high school hated me. I'm not sure why, to be frank," Mr. Dean began, and JD murmured something about egg and tequilas. "But one day she told me that I'd never make it in the _de_ construction business at parent-teacher conference with my pops. And y'know what I did?" Jeremy had the distinct feeling he wouldn't, but he shook his head anyway. 

     "I got her right in the face with a can of Budweiser!" Mr. Dean talked about it like it was the happiest day of his life, "Got expelled for some ungodly reason, but it worked out in the end." Jeremy stared, half-disgusted, and half-impressed that anyone would do that. JD coughed.

     "Yeah," he said, in a "Let's-change-the-subject-now" tone, "His name is Jeremy, by the way." Mr. Dean narrowed his eyes at JD slightly, like he wanted to tell more stories about the things he'd chucked Budweiser cans at. For a moment, Jeremy thought he would say something, but the man stayed silent. JD, too, was silent, and equally impassive. 

     "Uh... w-well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Dean." Jeremy spoke up, voice quavering slightly. The tension that had been thickening in the air seemed to lift at his words, and both Deans turned their gazes to him. Jeremy's face got a bit more maroon. Mr. Dean had the air of a kid who'd just had desert taken away from him, a mood that translated into his voice. 

     "You, too," he turned away from Jeremy and JD, walking over to his chair and reclining back in it, reaching over the side with his laptop - nearly knocking the thing in over in the process - and retrieved a can of Budweiser. He began typing away, his face screwed up in concentration as the TV droned on about the guy who discovered nuclear fission. Jeremy glanced uncomfortably at JD, who was looking past his father at a photo hanging from the wall that Jeremy couldn't make out in the dim light. After several moments, he elbowed JD in the side. The taller teen jumped, nearly shoving Jeremy in the stomach from surprise. Jeremy gawked at him for a second before collecting himself.

     "Want to show me that thing you were talking about?" he asked quietly. His righteous indignation at the universe had faded at meeting JD's father, and the interaction had only further fouled the mood. JD scowled at the picture for another moment, then spun on his heel, nodding. He lead Jeremy down one last, small hallway, that broke off into a side room whose door was open. Jeremy felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up as he entered JD's room; it was almost entirely barren, with a desk in the corner that had nothing on it except an old-fashioned lamp, and a bed in the opposite corner, a few suitcases haphazardly laying about being the only decorations. Aside from the numerous unopened boxes, of course.

      JD approached his desk, movements stilted, and pulled a drawer open. The wood groaned at the force, but he went on like a rusty nail didn't clatter to the ground only a second after he began fishing around in it. He scowled for a few moments, fingers clawing around in the drawer before finding what he wanted; the curved spine of a photo album. JD pulled it out and flipped through the pages of lamented pictures; the little girl in the picture looked so blissful.  _It's like she isn't an ass yet,_ he thought. Turning to face Jeremy, the taller teen found the page he was looking for. 

     "What're those?" Jeremy asked, peering at the pictures curiously. If he honest with himself, the fact that JD had a book full of pictures of a little girl made him a tad nervous. He looked up at his friend, scrunching up his brow. He didn't see how pictures of chubby babies playing in a bathtub was going to help him with anything, aside from possibly landing him on a watch-list. 

     "The only way you're gonna have a shot tomorrow," JD said, pointing to the picture of babies in the bathtub. "That's the Heathers." He was pointing a trio of fingers at three infants playing at one corner of the tub while a third, larger one, watched from a distance, a depressing look of longing and confusion in her eyes. Something in Jeremy caved when he saw her look. He dismissed it, though. His frown deepened, and he shook his head. 

     "Uh... aside from, like, weirding them out, this is going to help because...?" he said, to which JD jabbed a finger at the lone baby. 

     "Her. She's Martha Dumstock." his tone was flat - and for just a moment Jeremy didn't understand, but then it clicked. He immediately shook his head. 

     "Okay," Jeremy stepped back from JD and the photo album, praying that his cheeks wouldn't pink. "But wouldn't this be useless? I mean, this had to be years ago, right?" JD shook his head, shutting the photo album so sharply the nail from his desk drawer jumped on the ground. 

     "It is," he said, the grin on his face telling Jeremy he was very satisfied with himself, "But to Chandler? Duke? This'll mean everything." JD sounded so confident Jeremy was almost inclined to believe him. He knew what the popular cliques thought of Martha Dumstock; he'd heard just about every joke they could come up with from the other students at school, but using a picture like this made him hesitate. It isn't right, part of him protested. You'll hate yourself if you use it. Think about how others feel for once, won't you? 

     "Shut up," Jeremy muttered, then heard a grunt. He looked up, seeing JD with a ruffled expression on his face glowering at him. "N-no! Not you! I'm talking to myself, don't worry." Jeremy added, forcing a smile. JD still glowered, but now the offense wasn't present. He raised a brow, as if to speak, then proceeded to shrug.

     "Whatever you say, Heere. But anyway, whaddya think?" JD's eyes twinkled, something that put Jeremy off more than he'd've liked to admit.

     He saw where JD was going with this. A small piece of his head was even constructing insults around it. Yet every other part of him got a case of the butterflies. Martha Dumstock didn't deserve what she got, he was sure of that; the short end of the nickname stick was something Jeremy hated to be pointed with. Middleborough had been rough, but at the very least he was so tall that he almost never gained weight. If there was one thing worse than being a stick, it was being a ball. Martha... 

     "Well?" JD gazed at him like he was watching someone else's lab go south from across the classroom. Jeremy bit his lip. 

     "I..." The teen's voice wavered, petering out. It didn't sit at all right with him to do what JD suggested. 

     "Look, Jeremy; it's this or getting beat up by Kurt and Ram." JD said, a pointed look in his eye. Jeremy's face flushed.

     "Err," he began, scratching the back of his neck, "I don't... this isn't..." he looked at the floor. It just wasn't right. He'd caused enough pain. It wasn't okay for him to put Martha through that. Jeremy knew what it felt like being the butt of jokes all too well. He wouldn't-

     "Okay," JD walked over to his desk and slid the photo album back in the drawer, "If you want to give Chandler more ammo against you, I guess it is a free country." he turned around. He gestured to the door. Jeremy sucked in a rattly breath.

     "If you won't appreciate me, then please leave." JD told him. When Jeremy didn't move for a minute, he crossed his arms. 

     "Is it yes or no Jeremy?" JD's voice had a fine edge to it. Jeremy glanced around JD's room, his face going tomato. JD's face said,  _Come on, make your choice already!_

     "I'll move you myself if I have to," JD said shortly, and he took a small step forward. Jeremy shook his head, taking a moment to steady himself. JD was right. It was the picture, or Kurt and Ram and a wall. Picture. Bruises. Picture. Black eyes. Picture. Football team fists. 

     "Y-yes!" Jeremy blurted. JD, who had been taking progressively longer strides to him, halted. For a second, he was expressionless. A moment later the ghost of a smile crossed his face. His dark eyes twinkled again. He rubbed his hands together. 

     "Then let's get to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I'm bad at this. 
> 
> I am really sorry for my unreliability - school is tiring and I recently started replaying something for another fic. I would say I'm putting it on the backburner, but to be honest when it comes to my writing its short bursts a massive creativity and then about two weeks of struggling to come up with anything.
> 
> But... yeah there really isn't much excuse. I hope you enjoyed this. Chapter 13 will be out... sometime. :/
> 
> If this was any good, kudos, bookmarks, or comments will be appreciated. I'll see you the next time I break through my procrastination. - Raging Celiac


	13. Chapter 13

      **Jeremy wasn't** sure of JD's idea.

     Even as he walked home, a notebook with a skull-and-bones pattern wrapped in his arms, he wasn't sure. It made sense. He knew the gist; the point was to use the dirt JD had dug up as a shutdown for whatever Chandler had planned. To bombard her with obscure references that to Jeremy meant very little but both he and JD knew would mean just about everything to Chandler.

     If he was honest with himself, the sheer amount of insults, quips, jabs, and rebuttals left him a tad perturbed. He didn't picture JD as anything close to a socially smart, wry-remarking guy. But the notebook in his arms was literally full of insults; the number was slightly ridiculous. The more he read, the more he wondered whether JD had just been compiling data on the Heathers like some sort of emo FBI agent. A moment later he conceded yes, he probably had been building up a repertoire of insults in his imagination, a conclusion that had been overshadowed by a small burst of amusement at JD as a part of the emo-BI.

     In pattern for him, that good humor didn't last too long. 

     They'd reached the part of the photo album where Duke seemed to reach her early puberty stage. Jeremy only, of course, because there was a single picture in there where she had a pimple - because, as it turned out, there wasn't a single other picture like that in the entire rest of the album. It wasn't that, though, that made Jeremy's head go in a loop of thought around that section. 

     There was a picture of Heather Duke at age ten, her hair done up in pigtails. Jeremy's brow scrunched up when he saw that, but it furrowed further as he took in everything else she was wearing; a pair of sweatpants, a hoodie, and (Jeremy blinked at this) mismatched socks. he refrained from rubbing his eyes, but Jeremy was half-convinced JD had nabbed the wrong book. That entire train of thought, though, stopped when he saw the girl next to her. She, too, was a brunette, but with more angular, gaunt features, with hair that was held back or up by exactly nothing. Jeremy should've looked her over, moved on - he didn't know her after all - but something in his gut said he recognized her. For a few moments, Jeremy stayed perplexed by that, then shook his head. 

     "No way." he said. JD glanced over at him. 

     "You're not backing out, are you?" he asked exasperatedly. Jeremy started, stumbling over his first few words. 

     "No," he managed after a moment, "It's not that." Jeremy pointed his thumb to the picture, right over Page's face. JD leaned over, his shoulder sliding a tad painfully past Jeremy's. The latter winced somewhat as JD peered over at the photo, wondering how someone had managed to get even more skinny than himself. 

     "Duke doesn't look like she has a broom tapped to her back," JD commented. Jeremy shook his head again. 

     "Not her. The other girl." Jeremy told him. JD shifted his eyes to Duke's friend. 

     "She looks like a typical ten year-old," he stated, frowning at Jeremy. A second after he saw Jeremy's expression, he added, "What? You know her?"

     "Yeah. I... I think I do." Jeremy said, nodding numbly. JD looked at him. 

     "What? I can talk to girls!" Jeremy responded indignantly. JD tilted his head to the side. 

     "Wait. You mean... you think this is your girlfriend, Page, don't you?" Jeremy inclined his head, only a second later realizing he hadn't denied the 'Girlfriend' part. He glared at JD, who shrugged, coughing in a "Let's-clear-the-air" way. 

     "Anyways," he said carefully, "This is dramatic and all, but it doesn't have any relevance to your situation, does it? Last I checked, Page was essentially a write-off." 

     Jeremy thought for a moment before his gut proceeded to clench with indignant anger. He scowled. 

     "She was probably only interested in me to get back at Duke," he answered, a twinge of bitterness lacing itself around his words. JD was silent for a moment. His expression was, oddly, empathetic. He met Jeremy's eyes.

     "Reject her, then," JD responded fiercely, "If she's only in it for the outside, make her even more of a write-off." Jeremy blinked. His anger receded. His scowl disappeared. JD's tone was intense - bitter - to the point that made Jeremy a little bit uneasy.

     "Err," he said, "Did something like that happen to you?" It took Jeremy less than a blink to know that the answer was yes, from the way JD's face had twisted up.  He lowered his eyes to the photo album, feeling awkward. 

     "I... that sucks, man. You, uh, feel like talking about it?" Jeremy added. JD, too, looked at the photo album, scowling moodily. 

     "Let's get back to the insults, shall we?" he said, in that sing-song, non-negotioable tone that had an uncanny ability to send shivers down Jeremy's spine. It did this time, too, but he nodded nonetheless. 

     "Yeah. Let's get back to the insults."

 

* * *

    

     Jeremy knew he wasn't comfortable with what JD wanted him to do. He knew it. 

     His sleep that night was fitful, with his covers looking more like an abused fruit roll up the next day than a comforter and blanket. Jeremy groaned as he forced himself groggily into a sitting position. His MacBook was sitting on his desk, unopened, along with JD's notebook. 

     To Jeremy, that thing was a deathnote. 

     Socially, at least. 

     Jeremy had spent the moment he got home up to his neck in homework. It was something of a pattern, apparently, for students' grades to slump around the holidays - which meant they all chose this point to throw tests and review packets at him like some type of paper cut-filled game of hot potato. By the time he was done, his dad had taken leave and gotten to bed. That a divorce lawyer with actual legal battles to fight got more sleep than a high schooler was something Jeremy found exasperating. 

     He grumbled to himself about Mr. Krikor and splashing his own water on him as he got out of bed. He stalked moodily over to his closet, picking out (Again) his brown cardigan, jeans, and a striped t-shirt, except this time it was the color of Neapolitan ice cream. As he looked at the shirt and blue jeans, Jeremy briefly wondered if he could just switch schools. There had to be other ones, right?

     No, he told himself. He'd own up to his actions. He was almost an adult now. He had to face his consequences, even if it meant confronting the demon queen of Westerberg. With a scowl, he walked over to his bathroom and took his shower. The water felt nice, but it wasn't enough to distract Jeremy from the thing he'd agreed to doing today.

     Confront Heather Chandler in the lunch room. In front of about three-hundred other kids. With a group of jocks within hearing range. No biggie.

     Jeremy shook his head, turning off the water. He shook his head, drying himself off, getting dressed, and eating his breakfast with a scowl. His father asked about it, but Jeremy was too preoccupied attempting to stop himself from catastrophizing to pay attention. 

     "Mmm?" he asked through a mouthful of cereal, nearly choking on it. His father shook his head. 

     "Is everything alright, Jeremy?" he repeated, folding his paper down so he could see his son. The half that got folded drooped over his bagel, threating to submerge in his cream cheese. Jeremy pulled his eyes up, briefly eyeing the main story before actually meeting his dad's gaze. Part of him wanted to dump everything on him right then and there; divulge every single little thing that stressed him out, and damn what his father would think. Another faction said that it'd be over soon, and besides, what would the follow-up conversation be like? 'Oh, don't worry about that minor nervous breakdown I had in front of you, dad. I'm totally fine, thanks!' 

     Jeremy bit his lip, just opening his mouth when his eyes, in his nervousness, flicked over to the clock. His heart nearly stopped. He had about ten minutes left to get to his bus, if he ran... and if he didn't he'd miss it. Jeremy jumped up in his seat, managing to bang his knee against the wood. The table wobbled, and the ad section of his dad's paper took a dip in his cream cheese. 

     "Gotta go!" Jeremy told him, getting out and rushing to his backpack. As fast as he could, he stuffed his binder into it, upsetting a summary of the most recent chapter Mr. Krikor had them working on. Shouting one last 'See you!' over his shoulder, Jeremy scrambled out of his house and into the street. 

     He didn't bother with petty things like restraint. He didn't care that his cardigan flew up like someone surrendering as he ran. All that mattered to Jeremy was that when he skidded to a halt at his bus stop, he saw a yellow blob coming down the street toward him. He collected himself just as it came to a stop in front of him. Hoping that his deodorant held, Jeremy got on the bus a gracefully as he could manage with his panting. He took time to select a single-person seat, silently praying that the people in the seat across from him didn't move. 

     He kept his head down for the rest of the ride, looking out the window, mindlessly studying the foliage they passed, that somehow gave off an incredibly blasé attitude despite only having the wind to communicate emotion. When the bus got to one of its stops, though, Jeremy's heart just about froze in place.

     Standing around an old, weather-beaten bus sign was a group of bored-looking teenagers. That was the normal part. The not so normal part was the girl that leaned against the stop sign, wearing a brown coat that they hugged around themselves, which kind of spoiled the whole "Tough-kid" act she seemed to be going for. The students looked up as the bus approached the stop, focusing on the doors, but the girl's eyes scanned the windows. Jeremy made the mistake of catching Page's eye. 

     Her face lit up, the outline of her cheek bones made more obvious by her smile. For a moment, Jeremy forgot about the picture he'd seen of her and Duke last night. But then it came back, and his mind was abuzz with questions. The image of a ten-year-old Page plastered itself across his face, along with Duke's pigtails. He bit his lip nervously, looking away as blood rushed to his face. Page got on the bus with the rest of the kids, and Jeremy glanced at the people across from him. They hadn't moved, thankfully. he leaned back in his seat, resolutely focusing on the olive-green back of the seat in front of him. 

     But out of the corner of his eye, only a few minutes later, he saw Page looking down at the person in the seat in front of him. He didn't need (And would most rather have not if he could've realistically stopped himself) to look at Page's face to see she was glaring. Jeremy held his breath, before the person in front of him, got up, nervously picking another seat on the bus. Page plopped herself down into their seat, turning around as she did so, flashing Jeremy another one of her smiles. The latter shrunk a little into his seat, wanting nothing more than to sink right through the floor of the bus and be left to go home. 

     Of course, the second after that thought had solidified, Page peeked around the corner. Jeremy hated the small, tiny part of his head that noted that the colors she chose complimented each other quite well, if he was honest. Jeremy took an interest on a spot in the floor where a piece of gum had gotten stuck. A brief space passed when Page frowned, yet it was quickly sept away with a smile. She studied Jeremy's face (What she could see of it) behind this cheerful veil. The bags under his eyes were darker, going farther down from his eye. 

     "You sleep well?" she asked innocently. 

     "Alright," Jeremy answered, still looking at the floor. He hoped Page'd just stop. Of all the days in the world, he didn't want to interact with her on this one. She made him nervous as-is, let alone with his looming confrontation with Chandler. 

     "So," she said, "Not well." 

     Jeremy glanced up at her, gripping the underside of his seat. The way she'd seen right through him... it made some part of him perk up in suspicion. For another moment, he looked back to the floor. He could feel Page's eyes boring into the back of his neck, where he was pretty sure he might've still had a zit. He suffered one last second under her gaze before sighing and dragging his eyes up.

     "Yeah," he admitted, shoulders slumping. "It's just..." Jeremy made a vague gesture with his hand as his train of thought died, making a sound between a grunt or growl. 

     "Chandler?" she asked softly. Jeremy nodded. The bus jerked as it hit a speed bump, something that startled Jeremy into noticing a brown coat sleeve that had wormed its way a bit too close to his hand. He blinked, feeling color rushing up his face. Quickly, he threw his eyes toward the window, finding himself with the positively wonderful view of morning traffic. The driver in the car noticed him, and she shot Jeremy a dirty look, huffing as she honked and switched lanes. 

     Jeremy shook his head, a small section of his head making him grind his teeth. It wasn't his fault he had a rising teenage yandere chasing after him. He glared out the window for a second, then let out a small breath. Stay calm. No time to wallow. Clear your head and move on. 

     He took the risk. Jeremy turned his gaze back to Page, who he caught mid-frown. Her eyes were analytical, a milder version JD's piercing stare searching his expression for something he didn't discern. Conspicuously, a smile spread across her mug a millisecond later. 

     "Well," she began, "Is it?" Jeremy narrowed his eyes slightly. 

     "Yeah... you could say that." He inched away from her. Page pursed her lips. 

     "You want any help?" 

     That surprised Jeremy on a few levels. Despite a small temptation to accept, Jeremy shook his head. 

     "No thanks," he responded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a no-smoking sign. His heart leaped a bit. Something in his face must've shifted, as seemed Page's eyes dimmed a bit. She opened her mouth, but the bus stopped at that exact moment. Jeremy shot up in his seat, for once glad he was in school. A good forty-five Page-free minutes were things he was able to look forward to. 

     He was the first off the bus, and the first to start speed-walking when a jeep honked loudly in the parking lot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hi there. 
> 
> Sorry if this feels like a bit of filler, but I felt I needed some set up for Jeremy's spat with Chandler. Something to build up, and the Jeremy/Page stuff is fun to write if for nothing the but the challenge. 
> 
> I hope you found it good enough for a comment or kudo. And to those who bookmark, you have no idea how flattering it is that someone would like what I write so much to follow it. That's about it, so I'll see you guys next time. - Raging Celiac


	14. Cafeteria Calamity Number Two, Emo-Drama Boogaloo

      **His happiness** didn't last to his locker. 

     Jeremy weaved amongst the throngs of students, feeling very thankful for the time that had passed. He didn't like the rumors JD had told him had started circulating, but it seemed that, since it had been a few weeks since he'd last done anything, he was old news by the standards of the rest of his peers. That didn't help too much though. 

     Now that he was actually inside Westerberg, Jeremy's insides were squirming. The halls felt claustrophobic, made worse with how packed with students they were. People talked and laughed and caught up from the weekend. Some talked about parties they'd went to, or people they were going to ask out (Jeremy doubted the conviction of a good chunk of those people); others gossiped, most of that group quieting slightly if they noticed Jeremy had passed them. As he turned the corner to his locker, ignoring as best he could the looks of two football players, Jeremy let out a long breath. 

     Page was annoying, sure, but she kept him occupied. Occupied with his own blushing, granted, but she kept his mind of things for a moment. Now that she was absent? Jeremy had an intense urge to stuff himself inside his own locker. At least in there he'd be safe. 

     Jeremy opened his locker glumly, already determining that there was no JD waiting in the shadows to scare him. He didn't want to know how the shadows of his corner must've made him look like, but he busied himself instead with straightening his binder. His backpack was scrunched up against the back of his locker, yet Jeremy was too distracted to notice that. 

     The walk to first period was jock-free, as it turned out. That part Jeremy appreciated. The part of his trip he didn't appreciate was the look Duke had as she joined the line to Mr. Krikor's class.

     Her two lackeys sneered at him as they went off to their classes. Duke, on the other hand, smiled at him.

     Jeremy looked firmly at the ground. Despite how volatile she was, Heather Duke was pretty. That seemed to be a bit of a prerequisite, of course, but still; the small section of his head that noted that her smile could've been nice to see under different circumstances was one Jeremy smacked hard. He did  _not_ need his downstairs making him horny at that moment. Especially because the look in her eyes was so arrogant that Jeremy wanted to wipe it away, even if he didn't know what she was so haughty about. 

     "What?" he snapped at her, his insides stopping their squirming for a moment to get angry. Duke just continued smiling. Jeremy's insides restarted their squirming. 

     "Oh, nothing," Duke shrugged in a sing-song voice. Jeremy had several questions, but he exhaled through his nose. She wanted him to ask 'What', he was confident - and the last thing he wanted to do was give someone like Heather Duke what she wanted. Turning away from her, he did his best to calm himself. He looked at the untidy brown hair of the kid in front of him until the line began moving. Despite the parts of him that said not to, he shot a glance behind him: Duke was still smiling. 

     She appeared unruffled by Jeremy's ignoring of her; if anything, she looked bemused. It was as if she was trying to say,  _Don't worry, you'll see soon enough._

  Jeremy looked away before he could make eye contact, finding his seat with a single question preeminent over everything he did as Mr. Krikor got up. Scrambling slightly, Jeremy, in his nervousness, managed to fumble with his pencil two times, missing a good minute of Mr. Krikor's rapid-fire fact-bomb he called a lecture. The tests in his class had never been hard per se, but the best method Jeremy had found was to study everything and hope for the best. That fact lead to Jeremy fighting through his hesitation and raising his hand. Mr. Krikor had just finished a tangent on the differences between Sparta and Athens when he finally noticed him. 

     "Yes?" he asked with a twinge of impatience. Around Jeremy, people stopped writing, seeming to relax for a moment before turning their collective gaze on him. As red overtook his face, Jeremy noticed Duke amongst the pairs of eyeballs. She was still smiling cockily, an eyebrow arched at him. She looked at him with sneering amusement. Jeremy gulped. 

     "Err, c-could you repeat that part about the Parthenon? Or... uh... the past five minutes?" he asked. Some kids snickered. Duke snickered right along with them, but Jeremy had the distinct feeling it wasn't about him missing notes. 

     "Of course, Jerry," Mr. Krikor said, clearing his throat. "Now, the Parthenon was finished in 438 BCE..." 

 

* * *

 

 

     As it always did after first period, Jeremy's hand hurt. Mr. Krikor went over to his desk, taking a swig of his water bottle. Students got up as the bell rang, some scowling at their dulled pencils, others just throwing everything into their bags and leaving, already wanting to fast forward the eighth period. Except for Jeremy. 

     Duke was still smiling, albeit it had gotten significantly smaller over the period. Jeremy felt her eyes on him as she got up, and sauntered off to the door. His breath hitched as her form disappeared, and he took to moment to breathe before collecting his own possessions and booking it out the door. His legs carried him all the way to Mr. Fedralson's classroom on their own, leaving his mind to anxiously try connect strings now that it had the time to fret. What did Duke know? His friendship with JD? That was the most likely thing, yes, but some part of Jeremy shook its head. It had to be something else. Had she found out about Page's chasing of him? Frankly Jeremy had been surprised no-one had commented on it earlier, but that seemed unlikely all the same. No, he thought. It had to be something else. She couldn't have...

     Jeremy shook his head. He hadn't told anyone that he was from New Jersey bar JD, or anything that had happened there with his SQUIP. Duke finding out about that would be impossible... right? 

     Jeremy bit his lip as he sat down at his desk, taking out his pencil and calculator, idly pushing the buttons on it in a vain attempt to restrain his inner worrier. The school year after the incident had been horrid enough. The one thing Jeremy could point to as a positive about Westerberg was that it was a fresh start; nobody would know what he'd done, or judge him for it. Maybe - just maybe - his senior year wouldn't be completely horrible. Jeremy snorted as Page passed a paper back to him. She opened her mouth almost immediately, but Jeremy cut in before she could talk. 

     "It's nothing," he lied. Page didn't look like she believed it at all as she turned back to her desk. Passing the paper back, Jeremy cleared his TI-83. Sighing heavily, he began his own work. 

     The lesson was mostly boring. A test was coming up, so all they were doing were practice problems. Questions from kids passed into one of Jeremy's ears and out of them, disinterest making the period blend into one block of half-waiting for the bell to ring while a part of him hoped it never would. When the bell rung once more, cutting Mr. Fedralson's answer to a question off, Jeremy hesitated for a second before stuffing his things in his bag, getting up as fast as he could. Mr. Fedralson's futile shout of, "Study for the test!" was lost to him, along with Page's looking after him. 

     Period three was essentially a repeat of number two, though Jeremy did get called on, which made his face pink a bit. As he walked into art, he felt the dread he'd been contending with ratchet up a notch, making him gulp. he teen did his best to distract himself with the painting he was supposed to work on, and was successful to a point. Then he felt something wet hit the back of his head. Jeremy jumped, letting out a startled noise, and turned around to see a positively mortified boy with bags under his eyes rushing over to him. 

     "I'm so so sorry!" he said, "I-I didn't mean to!" Jeremy tried to mask his exasperation as the boy spun around, nearly knocking over another person's easel (For which he apologized even more for) grabbing a fistful of paper towels. When he gave them to Jeremy, he cut off the boy's string of verbal reparations with a hand. 

     "It's fine, really," he said, attempting a good-natured smile. His attempt must've been good enough, because the boy blinked, murmured another apology for apologizing so much, then sidled over to his easel. Jeremy saw the teacher sitting at their desk, a biography of Vincent Van Gogh in her hands. Jeremy walked over to her desk, and she looked up as he approached. She gave him a good natured smile.

     "Ahh, yes. I was pretty sure I heard a paint splat," she said, setting her book down. She pulled open a desk drawer and a brightly-colored, floral patterned pen, along with a note. Scribbling down the date, period and her name, she put it into Jeremy's hand. "Dry yourself off as best you can, though gray doesn't have a horrible contrast with your clothes."

     Jeremy nodded, a bit uncomfortable at getting fashion advice from a teacher wearing what looked like an inverted color wheel. The hallway was empty, and Jeremy found the silence nearly unbearable. In it, his fretting reached a whole new level of cacophony, questions bouncing around his head faster than he'd thought possible. He'd just begun to make out a pair of bathroom doors when the girls' swung open, revealing very not-Heather-looking Veronica Sawyer. Jeremy could see the stress from the way her shoulders were tensed, and the way her nails raked lightly across her palms. 

     Jeremy only just bit back a swear. Taking a deep breath, he marched over to the boys door and pushed it, using a tad more force than he needed, as Veronica stared at the back of his head in confusion. Jeremy sighed in exasperation as the door closed behind him, and grabbed two fistfuls of paper towels. Setting them a good few inches from a sink, he ducked his head under the sink head and turned it on, shivering at coolness of the water. It was typical, he reflected, that the water fountains would have lukewarm water and the sinks got the actually cold stuff. After a few seconds under the water, Jeremy pulled his head up and set to work, scrubbing the back of his neck vigorously. 

     He remembered when Christine had gotten the brilliant idea to try dying his hair. A smile tugged at his lips for a few moments at the memory, before being eclipsed by how he and Christine had ended hit that hard. The smile faded, replaced by a somewhat drooping frown. The teen tried to distract himself with the de-gray-efying of his mop, but met only partial success. 

     After he'd gotten about eighty percent of the gray out of his locks, Jeremy stopped. The dread for lunch had ballooned to the point that he was apathetic to whether or not his hair looked aged a good twenty years. Jeremy narrowed his eyes moodily as he left the bathroom, checking both ways before speed-walking back to his fourth period.  

     It was free of flying paint, thankfully. But it did involve almost no work from Jeremy, however. He was too stressed to paint; the dread had at that point wrapped itself comfortable around his focus, resulting in the flowers he was drawing gaining an unfortunate red streak across their petals. Jeremy gave up after that, deciding to direct his attention to calming his own breathing. 

     Too fast after he started those efforts, it seemed, the bell rang.

     Jeremy was stock stiff as the kids around him got up, shooting his person confused glances on their way out. He could've sat there for the rest of the day, staring at his flowers, but his art teacher had other plans. She tapped him on the shoulder. 

     "Jeremy?" she asked with a frown. "Is something bothering you?" 

     Jeremy jumped, nearly smearing his painting even more, before he forced himself to collect. 

     "I'm fine," he lied again. "I'm fine." 

     The teen didn't wait to be questioned on the truth of that. He grabbed his binder and bolted out of the room, causing an easel to fall over on the way out. The hall was empty. Everybody had made a beeline for the cafeteria, it appeared. Jeremy made his way to his locker in silence, as he was confident that if he spoke the sound added to the riot in his head would deafen him. To fast he had turned the corner that led to his locker, and was staring down his lock. Briefly, he considered just staying there, but a part of him correctly pointed out he could be walked in on by any teacher and that after Chandler had sent someone to check his normal hiding place, this place would most certainly be investigated. 

     Resignedly, Jeremy deposited his things into his locker, beginning to reach for the lunch he'd packed for himself, only to hesitate. His hand hovered over the brown bag, and the teen bit his lip. Taking it would be logical, of course, but would he even have the time to eat it? He'd have much bigger - and meaner - things to worry about, right? What room did he have for it?

     After another minute or so of contemplation, Jeremy decided to save it for later. It'd only slow him down. He wanted to look at least a bit manly when he stuck his social neck up. 

     Jeremy continued to struggle with his nerves all the way to the cafeteria doors, taking a slow, deep breath before he pushed them open. 

     Almost immediately, he was set upon by the smell of school lunches and teenagers. Sloppy Joes, by his guesstimate. He didn't mind those. He had just turned his head to the lunch line only to realize that there wasn't one. Everyone was seated. He felt his face turning crimson from nervousness, indecision stabbing at him for several seconds. Going to the lunch line could draw attention. He didn't want that. But what did it matter, anyway, a part of him argued. Chandler would notice him eventually. Why not get it over with sooner rather than later? Jeremy swallowed as he was struck with the fact that about a hundred or so pairs of eyes on him, as well as the conversation at the tables around him dying hard. 

     Eventually, the entire room was silent, as either confusion or rapt curiosity made students stop their chatter. Then, across the room, someone clicked their tongue. 

      Heather Chandler rose regally, grinning in false sweetness as with a snap McNamara and Veronica followed in her wake. The former was wearing an expression mirroring Chandler's, while the latter's face was stony. Chandler didn't notice this or (More likely) didn't care as she strutted over until she was but feet away from Jeremy. 

     "Speechless, Heere?" she asked, grinning ear to ear. In the distance, Jeremy swore he saw shifting at the jocks' table. "Don't like what you see?" She gestured around herself. Jeremy stayed silent, praying his voice would return from its exodus to the back of his throat. Chandler waited expectantly for a moment. 

     "Y-yeah," he said. Chandler's eyes glinted with mirth. She let out a tinkling, arrogant laugh. At that, something in Jeremy stiffened indignantly. Chandler continued to survey him. 

     "Looking a bit worse for wear, aren't we?" she said, striding forward, right into Jeremy's personal space. He could feel her gleefully scrutinizing every blemish on his face. "My, my. Those eye-bags. You know you need eight hours of sleep to function, right?" her tone was patronizing. She tilted her head to the side, craning around the side. She sneered. 

     "You dyed your hair too?" she asked, genuine surprise mixing with disgust. "God. I thought even you would be able to do better than emo trenchcoat over there," Chandler stuck her thumb over to the table with the geeks, at which sat a JD, who was doing a poor job of hiding his worry. Jeremy attempted to communicate with JD through eye contact, but Chandler clicked the floor with her boot. 

     "Hello? I'm talking, idiot," she said, succeeding in regaining Jeremy's attention. This had the small side-effect, though, of making a sect of his mind get a bit more vocal about talking back. "Good. Least you can listen." Jeremy was sure his face was fully red now. Chandler's expression darkened ominously. 

     "I'm gonna be honest. You've been a pain in the ass. And cowardly one at that." Chandler shot a meaningful glance over her shoulder toward the jocks. She swept forward, grabbing Jeremy's arm to keep him in place. His eyes went everywhere, wanting to avoid looking at Chandler directly. McNamara was smirking. Veronica's visage was teetering between ashen and dangerously pale. Jeremy tried to wrench himself free of Chandler's grip, but she managed to hold him still. She chuckled darkly. "Not this time, Heere." Jeremy looked at her. 

     Pretty features twisted into a merciless, self-indulgent smirk. She was enjoying this immensely. Slowly, even as large, broad-shouldered outlines approached, Jeremy began to grimace. Chandler's smirk, if anything, got even wider. Jeremy's grimace morphed into a glare.

     "You're disgusting," he spat. Chandler continued smirking at him. "You aren't anything, Chandler. You know it."

     Chandler didn't react. Her expression didn't shift. Jeremy glared harder.  

     "You think you're so great, don't you?" he snarled. Nothing happened. "You think that because you can order idiots around you're so amazing? What do they know? All you do is snap your fingers and they punch things. You didn't find me for weeks." Chandler's smirk had faded. Her jaw had clenched. Hardened eyes bore into Jeremy while Chandler snorted.

     "What're you saying?" her tone was a dangerous soft. Jeremy opened his mouth, just about ready to hurl one of his insults back at her. A dramatic revelation would slow her down. It's not like he was lacking in embarrassing stuff. As he opened his mouth though, in a split-second before the gap was closed, he saw a round face with thick, heart-shaped glasses looking right at him, their neck craned to get a good look. Martha Dunstock. 

      _Get out of my way, loser._

      The insults suddenly sounded horrible. His righteous anger began to peter out. He couldn't use them anymore. 

     "Come on, wise guy. Answer me!" Chandler growled, making minor trenches into Jeremy's bicep with her nails. Jeremy looked at her. 

     Past the make up and drama, he knew Chandler's type. The insecure one. She didn't really have friends. They were just around to feed her ego. An ego that Jeremy knew was very vulnerable deep down. He knew that insecurity. He'd lived it. 

     "Y-you're insecure!" he blurted. Chandler narrowed her eyes even more. Jeremy took a deep breath as McNamara giggled in the background. "Y-you need everybody here! Really, you hate yourself-" 

     Chandler shoved him hard. Jeremy stumbled back into the doors, tripping clumsily. He hit the floor painfully. Chandler's expression was murderous as she advanced on him. There wasn't any pretense of sweetness. Jeremy took a deep breath as she raised her boot. 

     "You can't live without them! You know that! Y-you need to put them down! You can't take not being in control - Ow!" Chandler kicked him in the nose. Hard. Jeremy's eyes watered for real, but that didn't stop him from seeing his attacker's ire. Chandler's fists were clenched. Past her, Jeremy made out Veronica's slack jaw and McNamara's wavering smile. Chandler snapped her fingers. 

      "You don't know anything," she said. "You're talking out of your ass. Kurt! Ram!" Chandler beckoned behind her, and, a moment later, two bulky, surprised-looking forms walked up. 

     "Uh, Heather," Kurt began, glancing at Jeremy. "You've never like, done that before." 

     "Yeah," Ram agreed. Both of them were looking at her like a math test. Chandler huffed. 

     "Just beat him up for me, will you?" she snapped, turning away. She glared. " _What_ _?_ "

     Veronica and McNamara looked at each other, then to Chandler. Her eyes flashed.

     "Nothing!" they both answered in unison. Chandler was mid-way through her approving nod when there was a loud, sharp cracking sound. The entire cafeteria froze. JD was standing up, holding a pistol that he pointed at the ceiling. For another second, everything was still. People exchanged shocked looks. Then McNamara, along with several others, screamed. 

     Kurt and Ram took off, along with most of the students. Jeremy was blinking hard, rubbing his eyes, before scrambling to his feet and flattening himself against the lockers. The tidal wave of terrified teenagers just barely missed him, as he searched for JD, hoping desperately that he wasn't the one who'd fired the shot. As the crowd thinned, he managed to crane his neck and make out a tall, trench-coated sillouette standing next to a table. Jeremy stared, feeling fear spike in his chest.

     What the fuck had JD just done?

      

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I finished this in a responsible-ish timeframe! Huzzah!
> 
> I hope to get the next chapter some time in the next few weeks, so look forward to that. 
> 
> As always, any kudos, comments, and bookmarks will be duly appreciated. 'Till the next time I break through my procrastination. - Raging Celiac


	15. Chapter 15

      **Jeremy felt** numb. Actually, scratch that; he was numb. 

     School was let out early for the students' safety (Though many had already taken that precaution by the time it was official), but it did nothing to help him. He wasn't like the other kids. He got no sense of relief when his father told him that the shooter was in custody. He didn't feel worry, either; he felt nothing but a faint sense of soreness in his jaw.

     He'd known JD was on the more angsty side of things as far as teen went, but still. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't so much as imagined it. 

     What kind of person fires a gun in a school? What kind of person even  _carries_ one? Why would JD even need it? Unless his father's interest in explosives was aimed against the president, it was just about the least necessary thing JD could've owned. 

     Even two hours later, Jeremy still didn't feel fully present in the moment. The cafeteria kept replaying over and over in his head, and he was surprised by how blurry it all was. He remembered the kick in the nose from Chandler just fine (He still felt it, after all) and Kurt and Ram walking over, but before that it's like someone put a 144p movie on fast-forward. The sound of gun, so loud and sharp, shook him to his core, as well as the utterly impassive look on JD's face before Ms. Fleming dragged him away. There wasn't even a hint of fear in his eyes. How?

     His phone vibrated in his pocket. Jeremy's musing collapsed as he pulled it out and saw who was calling: Christine. 

     That caught him by surprise. They hadn't broken up on bad terms, but they hadn't exactly talked much after that. Jake had made that a certainty. Jeremy wondered if he'd cheated on her yet. 

     "Yeah?" he asked as he answered. He looked at his ceiling fan, silently prepping himself to hear Christine's voice for the first time in months. 

      _"Are you okay?"_

     It was a tad static-y but it was Christine's voice. A concerned Christine's voice. That concern, Jeremy reflected, wasn't the type he'd gotten in a while. He sighed.

     "I guess," he responded in a drone, "Yeah. I'm... fine, I guess."

      _"Jeremy,"_ Christine's voice was soft. _"It's okay. I'm sure you're probably not feeling too good. The news said there was a fight before the shooting, right?"_

     "You could say that," Jeremy answered. Frankly, he would like to forget his confrontation with Chandler as soon as he could. It wasn't pleasant or very decisive, but now he was sure he'd never forget it. 

      _"Were you hurt?"_ Christine asked. Jeremy could practically hear her most recent script crumpling in her hands. She was such a good person. There were several hundred miles separating them and still she was worried. He didn't want to tell her the truth. Mainly because that would entail divulging most every detail of the demented situation he'd created for himself, and he wasn't able to do that with his only family. Sharing all of that with an ex? Jeremy shook his head. 

     "Not really," Jeremy said in dull tone. He hoped it'd dissuade Christine from further investigation. 

      _"Jeremy. I know when you're lying. What's wrong?"_ So he failed, then. Jeremy bit his lip. he could just hang up. That'd end the conversation. But then there was the fact the one area where Christine's ADD seemed to not touch was other people. She'd be hounding him for answers for the next week if he tried to hang up. Then there was also the fact that he knew that'd hurt her, and he didn't want that. 

     "I... got kicked in the face by the most popular girl in my school," Silence.  Jeremy could practically hear Christine's jaw loosing. 

      _"_ What _?"_ her tone was disbelieving.  _"What'd you...?"_

    "It's stupid, really," Jeremy cut her off. "Very stupid." He adjusted a pillow behind him to better support his neck. He didn't like Christine's silence following that. 

      _"And this stupid thing was...?"_ Jeremy ran a hand down his face. 

     "To be honest, I don't know, really. I guess I disrespected her... all I tried to do was squeeze past her to get to my bus." Jeremy let out an exasperated sound as the memory came back. "She didn't like that." 

      _"Really? You got kicked for that?"_ Christine sounded a mix of angered and bemused.  _"... You're not telling me something. Jeremy..."_ Despite the literal distance between them, Jeremy felt his face heating up. He hated it when she saw through him. More pertinent, though, was the vague stabs of pain that came with everything to due with the beginning September. He wondered if Michael had brought up how their friendship just stopped. He certainly didn't want to. 

     "I... her..." Jeremy took a breath. He needed to vent this with someone other than his dad or... whatever JD was. "... Her name is Heather Chandler. She's like, Chloe but ten times worse. She wanted to get me beat up, and so I - I hid for about a month in the boiler room during lunch." Jeremy facepalmed as he looked back on the tangle of decisions he'd made. They'd all seemed to make sense at the time. Now, with retrospect, he wished he'd just taken the beating. Maybe things would've been different. Better. "It's complicated, Christine. I don't really want to talk about it." 

     He knew he probably sounded pitifully weak, but he was stressed enough as it was. He wanted to vent, yet explaining it was painful. He'd have to talk about JD eventually, too; and he already felt guilt tugging at him for that. If only he'd just frickin' - no. He stopped himself. He couldn't've controlled it. Clear your brain. Move ahead. Explain your high school nightmare to your ex. Come on, Heere!

      _"Jer - I-I'm - sorry. You don't have to continue if you don't want to."_ Jeremy did his best to mitigate the tightening in his chest at the use of that particular nickname. He took another breath.

     "Thanks. I just need some alone time." Jeremy looked down, wishing the numbness would return. The boiling crockpot of pain it was replaced by was horrid. 

      _"Call me if you want to talk some more, okay? You're not alone in this."_ Christine ended the call with that. 

      _You're not alone in this._

     It was one of those things taken straight out of a romantic drama, and god he wanted it to work fill him with the warm fuzzies. It didn't though. His romantic drama had ended months before, with a sad ending. He didn't have a boyfriend or girlfriend. All he had was a single dad, a friend who was likely to be kicked out of school, and an overwhelming cadre of bullies. He was alone. Anyone who could help was hundreds of miles away. Telling the school wouldn't do anything; oh sure, they'd updated their bullying policies like all the other schools, but there was just about not enforcement of them. Ms. Fleming might, Jeremy thought, but he doubted - never mind that, he knew - that she'd ever stop Chandler. 

     The teen turned over miserably, looking at his closet. He still had school tomorrow. His teachers wouldn't forgive the homework he didn't want to do. 

     Groaning, Jeremy unsuccessfully attempted to school his features as he opened his backpack, took out his binder, and set it all down with an unceremonious thump onto his desk. 

     He worked slowly. He wasn't a massive introspection-type, but he could do his fair share. His emotions were a constant distraction, but somehow he managed to get through it all. By the time he glanced at his clock, it was time for him to go to bed. He should've minded, but he found it stirred no frustration this time around. He must've lacked the capacity to angst much more. Jeremy got up and laid down on his bed, over the comforter and sheets.

 

* * *

 

 

     His dreams were muddled and blurry. He only woke up with a vague feeling best described as 'Bleh'. Jeremy rubbed his eyes without enthusiasm, turning off his alarm and picking his outfit with the exact same lack of interest. 

     He still felt numb. For a second, he was tempted to look up what happened on his MacBook, but Jeremy decided not to. He was confident he wouldn't've liked the news, anyway. Firing a gun in a school without hurting anyone was like farting in a crowded elevator; the most the majority of people will do is run and complain after the fact - except, of course, the former was a crime. The image of JD in cuffs was one Jeremy put a serious effort into banishing, despite his utter lack of feeling.

     He took to his morning routine with no alacrity. He very nearly put on the same shirt he'd probably sweated in yesterday, only catching himself when he smelled it. The teen chose out another shirt, in the same pattern as the last, and grabbed his cardigan, wishing he had the time to find his hoodie. He shivered. The way Westerberg was, the last thing he desired was the rumors that would inevitably spark from JD's actions. He thought Chandler was horrible now, but the things she would concoct out of that - he wouldn't think about it. It didn't deserve his headspace. 

     Jeremy gave himself one last once-over in the mirror as he passed the bathroom. His nose was slightly crooked, though it seemed any blood Chandler had might've drawn out of it was long gone. His bruise from falling in the tub was mostly gone, but there was still a vague mark around his eye, so no total victory from that. Jeremy sighed again. At least he didn't have a massive bedhead. 

     He scarfed down his breakfast without much conversation. His father had questioned him about his nose, and Jeremy told him it was nothing to worry about. He tripped, that was all. Jeremy still felt guilty about it. It wasn't a full lie; he'd fallen, after all, but part of him pointed out it still wasn't the whole truth. His father deserved that, it said. He hadn't even come fully clean about the SQUIP either. Come on, Jeremy. Be honest for once. 

     For once, he was thankful that he had school. It distracted him from his own mental self-reprimanding.  Jeremy made it to the bus stop with not a moment to spare, silently hoping the day would be simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I finished this a bit ago. It's a bit short, yeah, but I felt there needed to be some bridging chapter after the whole JD-gun thing. And an angsty Jeremy is always fun to write. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked it. As always (Because I totally don't wrestle with my own insecurities everyday) any and all bookmarks, comments, or kudos will be greatly appreciated. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	16. The Not-Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the Chapter says, really.

      **The bus** was silent as Jeremy got on. People stared at him through the corners of their eyes, poorly hiding interest. The whispers they could've exchanged weren't ever spoken, but the other students might as well have been shouting their questions and theories at him. The silence was deafening in its own way, the buzzing in Jeremy's ear made his head quickly making his head spiral into thousands of different voices, all voicing concerns or throwing vitriol at the world.  Jeremy picked out a seat in the back, as far from anyone else as possible, setting down his backpack as a blush climbed up his cheeks. He focused on the brush outside to avoid the gazes of the people across from him. 

     He lurched a bit as the driver moved on to the next stop, and Jeremy leaned against his backpack. His gut told him to call Michael. Sure, they hadn't talked in a while, but he had to care a little bit, right? Jeremy ground his teeth and glared, managing to quiet his mental riot to the point that he could focus. No, he told himself. Michael hadn't called him for weeks. He had a girlfriend; he was happy with someone who deserved him. 

     The bus stopped, and more kids got on, most of them absorbed in amiable conversation that Jeremy was certain was about him. His internal suspicions were proven correct when, as he got on, a kid noticed him watching them. He took no time in whispering up to the person in front of him, so that the conversation they had had was dead by the time they sat down. Jeremy felt yet more eyes on himself as they sat down. He didn't even have the capacity to mutter curses under his breath; he just focused once more on the trees and bushes he could see outside the window, already having lost their leaves and green in preparation for winter. They sped past as the bus driver made his way ever closer to Westerberg, appearing to wave half-heartedly. 

     The bus jerked and the doors hissed open at Page's stop, the girl in question again leaning against a streetlight. She rushed onto the bus, though, before anyone else (Not that they looked very willing) and had made eye contact with Jeremy with unnerving efficiency. That surprised Jeremy a bit; most of the kids had been dead silent, as if they wanted nothing more than to be off of the bus. Page, however, was sitting down next to him before anyone else. Jeremy focused on a dead bush. 

     "So... yesterday was something, right?" Page said, tapping him on the shoulder. Jeremy flinched away, focusing on a different dying plant, this time on a wilting fern. After a moment, Page huffed. "Okay, it was crazy." 

      _You could say that,_ Jeremy thought. He didn't need to be reminded again how his only friend had fired a gun in school. Nor that said friend had, for some reason, been carrying one. 

     "I don't think it was set up," Page offered. Jeremy straightened like someone had just slipped an ice cube down his back. He blinked, slowly turning to face Page with a jaw he was working very hard to keep up. Page's eyes lit up slightly. 

     _"What?"_ he asked, mouth beginning to feel dry. Page nodded sadly. 

     "Some idiots think you set it up or something," she told him. "Some of 'em say it's too convenient for that kid to shoot when did, apparently. I don't though." 

     Jeremy nodded, feeling numb. This... oh jeez. This was bad. Very bad. How the hell was he going to get rid of these rumors? He gulped, feeling his face beginning to go red from nervousness. That explained the silence, he supposed. 

     "Thanks," he responded. He looked away, trying to clear his head; he told himself he shouldn't've cared, they never tried to help him before, but he couldn't. As little social standing as he was used to having, he didn't want to be part of the emo-weird club (those type of kids scared him a bit, if he was honest). A thousand differing and fatalistic senarios flitted about his headspace, bouncing around relentlessly to the point he felt like he had a headache. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. He jumped when he felt tentative fingers on his arm. He let out a startled squeak. That in itself drew a few glances, but it was the smiling teenage girl that caught his attention. 

      Page seemed more forward today. Much more forward. Normally it stopped at just kind words and ever so slightly too sweet looks. Touching him, though? That had always been a no-no. A big line (Wall, really) that Page didn't cross. He didn't like it when people touched him like that. It brought back bad memories of a Halloween party that had gone up in a flames, and a sequence that had kept him up many a night. Even then, he could hear the ghost of her voice, drunken and completely frank as she gave in to her jealousy. For all those reasons (And his own angst) he scooted away until he was pressed against the window. Jeremy was half-relieved to see entrance Westerberg. 

      Students milled about, talking to each other, but everything seemed a bit more subdued than usual; there was less din than there should've been. There was too little horsing around with the guys, or giggling groups of girls to be normal, at least for Westerberg. Jeremy narrowed his eyes after he noticed it. Something was off. He was already chalking it up to yesterday when, as his bus pulled in to the school, a kid pointed right at the window where he sat. At first it was only his friend that went quiet. Soon enough, it was the entire entrance. 

     Jeremy looked away, feeling that uncomfortable tug in his gut. The teen nervously hoped he wasn't about to start sweating as he got up, joining the back of the line to get off the bus - something that he didn't even have to try to accomplish, which hurt more than he'd like to admit. His luck held up to its crap standard, placing him right behind Page. As she got off, when she was literally one step away from the pavement, she turned to him. In a moment that was all-too fast for Jeremy to really react, she reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it, a fondness in her eyes that fell away a bit too quickly as she let go. 

      Jeremy stood there for a moment, stunned, red in the face. He stared out at the crowd of students watching him from the corners of their eyes for what felt like an eternity. Then the bus driver coughed. Jeremy jumped slightly, flustered, before getting off the bus and speed-walking inside the school, doing his utmost (And accomplishing very little) to keep his face a bit less crimson. 

 

* * *

 

     Jeremy's heartstrings tightened a large amount as he put his stuff in his locker. He couldn't stop his eyes from drifting of their own accord to the corner where JD had first startled him, see with immaculate detail how the lack of light made him look. He shook his head at the memory, pushing away to thought that His only actual friend was in jail. It simultaneously fired up his exasperation and his sadness, creating a volatile mix of emotions that kept his eyes on the floor, watching people's shoes in a halfhearted attempt not to walk into anyone. 

     People avoided him in the halls. Lockers or posters were suddenly very interesting, Jeremy found, when he turned the corner. Silence, too, had overnight become people's fav thing to do around him. His face was still red, but he scowled the whole way, too. He was on the last corner to Mr. Krikor's first period when he heard a high, infuriating giggle behind him. 

     "Hey, look! It's trench coat's boyfriend!" Duke said, causing Jeremy to whirl around. Her two cronies were with her, laughing with their heads thrown back as if what she'd just said was the joke of the century. Bile began to boil up in his throat almost immediately. 

     "What do you want?" he asked, a groan coloring his voice. Duke grinned at him. 

     "What's wrong, Heere? Mad because you're cover's been blown?" her voice made Jeremy want to punch something. Or her. Preferably her. He took a calming breath. His voice shook when he spoke anyways. 

     "G-go die in a ditch," he said, and Duke's cronies began laughing again, this time pointing at him with pretentiously-manicured nails.  Jeremy glared at them. He opened his mouth say something, but Duke, like some sort of green wraith, got right up in his face. He could make out bags under her eyes, which surprised him. She looked at him with a mix of haughtiness and anger that sent shivers down his spine and made him resentful at the same time. 

     "Look, Heere; your boyfriend may have saved you back there, but you're dead. You can't hide anymore." Jeremy winced as she grabbed his arm, yanking him forward until he could make out the bags under her eyes, something that surprised him a bit. Her eyes focused on his nose for a second, and something that couldn't be good flitted across her face. "Got it?"

     Without really thinking, he nodded, more focused on the fact that he was deeply uncomfortable with the grip around his bicep. Duke shoved him away, and he nearly fell, regaining his balance just as one of her followers bumped into him, which actually caused him to fall. Jeremy muttered under his breath, getting up with as much dignity as he could salvage, turning in the direction of Mr. Krikor's class and rushing in a second before the bell rang. Much of the class had already been seated, but even those who were focused on things other than finding their seats turned to stare at him. Once more, a hush fell across the room, something that made Jeremy's face heat up even more. 

     He slid awkwardly into his seat, taking out his notebook and pencil, focusing intently on Mr. Krikor, who was taking a sip of his water bottle. The teacher was just beginning his speech when, against his better interest, his eyes locked with Duke, who shot him a cruel smirk from across the room. He attempted to school his face and look coolly back at her, which he was dubious he was successful at. A condescending amusement flickered through Duke's eyes before Mr. Krikor cleared his throat. Jeremy blinked and hastily picked up his pencil as the first slide came up, and began to frantically jot down notes. 

     Forty-five minutes later and with an aching wrist, the bell rang. Jeremy slumped forward in his seat for a moment before grunting and stuffing his things in his bag, a scowl crossing his face. He felt people's eyes on his back as he got up and left the classroom, Duke shooting him a mildly amused look on her way out. Jeremy scowled more. 

     Math passed in a dull mass of equations and algebra which he knew he'd probably end up having to review. Page briefly frowned at him when she sat down, which was all the cause Jeremy needed to look determinedly at poster on the wall instead of focusing on Mr. Fedralson's lesson. He doubted he could've focused much anyways, because near the end of class, a familiar nervous feeling nestled itself comfortably in his gut. He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly, realizing with a start that he hadn't taken out his calculator yet. He was just reaching into his bag when a voice cut through his trainwreck of thought. 

     "Mr. Heere?" Mr. Fedralson said, in a "You-will-answer-my-question-and-die-of-embarrassment" tone teacher's seemed to have patented. Jeremy looked up, internally groaning. 

     "Y-yes?" he replied, cursing his own stutter. 

     "What is the next thing we do to solve the equation?" Mr. Fedralson asked, and Jeremy squinted. Yep, that was certainly an equation. And yep, he had no idea what to do with it. 

     "Err..." Jeremy began, wincing as if someone had hit him, "I... don't know?"

     "Then I suggest you pay attention next time," Mr. Fedralson said sharply, and Jeremy winced again. "Now, does anyone else know what to do?" 

     Thank god, someone raised their hand. 

     Jeremy's mood had managed to sink even lower by the end of the period. Even the nice teachers were on his back; did they also think he'd planned it all with JD too? He shook his head as he collected his things, misery mixing with his nervousness about the rest of the day to make a perfect hopeless-dread typhoon. He left Mr. Fedralson's class with a pinked face and gripping his backpack straps tensely. The teen did what he could to ignore the eyes following his frame as he made his way to his third period, eyes darting around, managing to avoid eye contact, and accomplished little. 

     He didn't want any of this. Absolutely none. He wished it could go back to the previous week - it had been calmer then, simpler. No advances from weird girls, no crap from teachers. None of that. Just rampant catastrophism and avoidance of mean girls. That? That he could deal with. Whatever the heck was going through JD's head when he fired that gun was something he very much wanted to be privy to, if for nothing else the potential of some kind of explanation. Some reason. As soon as he'd seated himself in third period, Jeremy folded his arms across his desk and buried his face in the sleeves of his cardigan, tuning out what the teacher was saying in favor of embracing the slightly itchy brown fabric of his clothing.

     Art was especially annoying that day. he had to restart his painting from scratch, which only did good things for the scowl that he'd opted to take over his face during third period. The emotional typhoon was still there, which the teen wasn't entirely confident he would be able to entirely express with his face anyways. On the upside, he thought, people didn't stare at him as long; they took one look at his scowl and quickly averted their eyes. A sliver of him pointed out that that wasn't entirely a positive, but the rest of Jeremy just ran with it. Less eyes meant a marginal decrease in his blush, which was something he could salvage, at the least.

     Jeremy hadn't made much progress on his remake by the end of the period, but he wasn't overly concerned about that as the bell rang. His heart skipped a beat when its chime reached his ears, sounding more like a blaring siren to him. He collected his things with a lethargy, if for nothing else to slow down the inevitable confrontation that had to be coming. Had to. He didn't know what Chandler would have planned, but it would not be good for him, he was sure. Jeremy's scowl had faded by the time he left into the hallway, replaced with the most accurate impression of a ticking time bomb his body could muster. When he reached the cafeteria doors, moving with the normal traffic of students this time, he was practically shaking. As the doors swung open, Jeremy prepared himself for the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's only been... two months since I started this chapter. 
> 
> I apologize for the wait. A combination of getting writers block with this chapter and agreeing to write my first ever request (Which i'm still working on) put this on the backburner in a way it really shouldn't've been. Sorry. 
> 
> I have a plan for what's happening after this, anyways. So that should help. I hope this was an enjoyable read nonetheless, though. as always, any and all kudos, bookmarks, and comments will be greatly appreciated. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	17. The Panic During the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm evil. But if you've read up to this point, that probably won't turn you off. Enjoy! >:D

      **Nothing happened.**

     Literally nothing. 

Jeremy heldhis breath as he entered the cafeteria, heart pounding, and fighting his large urge to run away from the situation all-together, screw the potential consequences, he joined the lunch line. He focused way more than he should've on his lunch tray, hoping that would dissuade the many, many eyes following him. He felt like a nervous, sweaty, red-faced zoo animal. 

     His food smelled awful; a white blob that he guessed were supposed to be mashed potatoes was dumped sloppily into his tray, spilling into the compartment of tray next to it. Next came the meatloaf, if it could be called that, that had more the consistency of jelly than meat or loaf. The mushed peas that came with it (That also spilled off the tray) broke it for Jeremy. He resolved that that wouldn't get so much as a millimeter in his mouth. He already had enough disgusting things to deal with these days. 

     He left the lunch line and made the mistake of looking around the tables. He hadn't risked much eye contact before, but now it seemed impossible to not. At first he saw (And made the barest contact with) several people who were giving him the side-eye. He didn't snort internally when he realized that, though. No exasperated noises came from a corner of his mind. He just felt mildly hurt. Did they really all think he had set it up with JD too? When Page had told him about the rumors he thought it'd just be a few kids. But as he looked across the lunch room, he saw a sea of people looking at him with suspicion and a small amount of disgust. Or was it just his noticeably crooked nose? He wouldn't put it past them, if he was completely honest with himself. No, a part of him said. Chandler probably started the rumors. That's why they were looking at him this way - to fit in. Everything he'd said to Chandler he entirely believed in, but he shouldn't've expected anyone to help him. Not really. 

     Then he made eye contact with Chandler. Good 'ole HC herself. She looked at him with a crossbred expression of sneering amusement and disregard. His mind flickered back to how cold her eyes had looked when he was firing off. Now that was gone. He'd made a temporary dent, maybe, but that was it. Just like with Chloe. Make a fair point and it bounces off. Nothing substantial, at least from what he could see. He hadn't cracked any pedestals, or anything even remotely close to that. He'd done nothing, it seemed. Chandler's expression said, _You're gonna get yours -_ and Jeremy realized that he probably didn't have much hope to the contrary. All he could do is hope he was reading her wrong. 

     He sat down with a hearty gulp. He chose the table with the nerds, like last time... weeks ago. Jeremy looked down at his tray, and supported his chin with his hand. He ran a hand over his face. Christ, it had really been weeks since he sat in a frickin' cafeteria. Not even after basically all of his last high school hated him did he hide from something like this. He scowled, absentmindedly jabbing his fork into his jellyloaf. It jiggled. Jeremy almost turned into a mother bird. 

     The teen sat there for a good five minutes before he felt something really off. He'd expected Chandler to dart over to him as soon as possible. But the only person from her clique who got up as Kurt, who flipped a kid's lunch tray. He laughed uproariously, while the kid who just lost his tray stood there, mouth half-open, before sighing heavily and going to their table. Jeremy attempted a look of sympathy, and even managed to catch their eye.

     They looked away immediately. 

     Jeremy moodily poked his jellyloaf.

     The lunch bell rang and Jeremy wasn't sure whether to feel relieved to get some sort of distraction from his angst or to get more nervous. Lunch had passed. Chandler was supposed to try stuff then. Now he was heading to sixth period and he frankly was somewhat afraid of whatever she'd planned. After-school beat-up? He supposed that was most likely, but on the way to get his binder from his locker he'd come up with about three other possibilities. One was that she wanted to go back and be thematic or something, and humiliate him on the way to the buses. He'd get out of that one, which is why he decided that was just wishful thinking on his part. The second was something in between his classes, but she'd never tried anything like that before, even when by now he was about ninety-nine percent confident she knew his schedule. The third said that perhaps Chandler would do nothing. She'd had a pretty big victory before JD decided the ceiling was primed to become an impromptu target, right? His nose was like, ten degrees off of where it should've been pointing. 

     Jesus, Jeremy thought as he sat down in sixth period. Why couldn't things just be simple?

     His sixth period teacher went off into a tangent about halfway through the lesson, spending a good ten minutes describing (In vivid detail, which did wonders when combined with his already half-distracted attention span) their trip to Frankenstein. No, no. Licktenstein. Something with a "Stein" that as far as he was concerned was a stain on the world map, because to added just a bit more confusion into his life. 

     "-And that's how I flew without a passport," the teacher finished. Some students nodded to them in barely awake recognition. Most were actively ignoring the presentation they were supposed to be given. They continued on with the lesson, and the bell rang, cutting them off mid-sentence. Startled, they cried, "That worksheet is still due tomorrow!" as students rushed out. Jeremy shot the wall a dirty look as he left the classroom. 

     Seventh period was dull and monotonous. Jeremy took exactly zero enjoyment out of the 'fun' spin on their activity. That 'fun' thing involved breaking up the concept into a few distinct steps and writing them down, which Jeremy would tolerate. Then they had to copy those steps three times so it was embedded in their memory, if his half-annoyed listening were correct. Jeremy could practically feel the exasperated eyebrows his peers were giving the teacher in their head during that, and joined in. After that, the teacher told them to cut the steps they'd jotted down out of their notebooks individually, and (Jeremy's mood went further down at this) told them to get into groups to review them like flashcards. Not only that, but since the class was uneven, he was the lucky "I-Got-No-Partners" kid forced onto a group of kids who didn't want him there. 

     There were three people in his group. Two guys who were about as buff as they were popular and a girl that immediately sat a bit closer to her friends as soon as Jeremy sat with them. For several moments none of them said anything.

     "So... uh..." Jeremy started, "Who wants to first?" 

     "Wait so she was serious?" One of the boys blurted out. Jeremy's gaze snapped over to him. He looked embarrassed, but still curious. 

     "I can see it," The other guy added, pointing to the back of his head. How he thought he'd help with that, Jeremy had positively no idea. He narrowed his eyes lightly as his seemingly permanently pinked cheeks began to flush. 

     "It was from art," he told them, fighting to keep his voice even. "Some kid hit me with paint." 

     "Why?" it was the girl this time. Jeremy had tried to ignore her. Girls always stressed him out; while most certainly weren't like Chloe, he always felt under pressure - not that his natural social ineptitude helped him at all. 

     "H-he slipped or something," Jeremy answered, and the girl raised an eyebrow. He could sense the  _Great, this one's total dweeb_ alarms starting up.

     "'Slipped'?"

     "Tossed it, same difference," Jeremy said, praying extra hard that he could brush it off. The girl nodded with a frown.

     "Right. Anyways, let's get down to work."

     That work felt painful for Jeremy. About five minutes in the girl's views on him had seemingly spread to her friends. They never said anything, of course - just held their thoughts in their eyes like he somehow wouldn't notice them. Despite his worry over Chandler, he felt a twinge of bitterness. It didn't seem to matter to them that it was him standing up to Chandler - that he was when no one else was. When the bell rang, he sighed, and he rubbed his forehead in exasperation. What they thought really shouldn't've mattered to him, anyways. But it did. 

     When eight period mercifully came to an end, Jeremy put his stuff into his backpack with lightly shaking hands. He muttered to himself. He hadn't been able to focus at all that period. At all. The slideshow talking about themes and tone and how they were established went in one ear and promptly escaped out the other as Jeremy tried to quiet his head. 

      _You can't hide anymore._

"Jeremy!" the boy started, blinking as he jumped in his seat. The teacher had to be kidding. "How would you describe the tone in this passage?" Jeremy squinted, and very nearly giggled. For some reason, the teacher had put it in comic sans.

_'"You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, “This is ridiculous.'_

_The door was rainbow. Literally rainbow. It hurt her eyes to look at it, yet she did it all the same, and hated it more every second."_

"Uh..." Jeremy gulped. "Err, it's... sarcastic?" he said uncertainly. He reread it. The teacher folded her hands together behind her back with that slightly vindictive look they got whenever they caught someone not paying attention. Like it was an inexcusable crime to think about anything other than the complexities of the overly-long slog that was  _Moby Dick._

     "And how is that tone established?" she smiled. Jeremy felt sickly. 

     "Sentence structure?" his voice cracked slightly on the last note. A few kids snickered. The teacher nodded. 

     "Exactly. Well spotted, Mr. Heere." 

     The compliment didn't make him feel any better. Not that it sounded real. The teacher sounded fully aware that giving a compliment like that was par for the course, so she let her real thoughts shine through with her inflections. Jeremy groaned quietly. That gained him a dirty look, but he honestly couldn't care. Or maybe he was too stressed to care. Or he might've stopped caring a while ago. He was only sure that he was tense, and that something bad was probably in his future.

     He heard the bell ring and didn't feel relief. Jeremy put his stuff in his backpack with lightly shaking hands. he clenched his fists, forcing his nails to dig into his palm, and that stopped it briefly. It had come back in full force, however, when he realized on his way to his locker that he was being followed. At first he wasn't sure, but when he ducked into the bathroom for a second and saw the same two jocks following his shadow, he knew he was. 

     Shit. 

     Why were they following him? To beat him up? Did they want to impress Chandler or something? Weren't there other people they could punch to get affection? Like, anyone else?

    He ducked into the bathroom again when the next opportunity presented itself. He had to hide. No better place than the stall, right? There was nothing quarterbacks feared more than the word 'gay', after all. 

     He must've stayed in there for ten minutes. Twenty. Jeremy didn't know. His head was spinning and whirring, trying to figure some way past the jocks. Trying to just slip past wouldn't work. And how was he going to get out of the bathroom? This was a very temporary solution. Nobody had come in after him, which was nice, but he couldn't stay in here forever. 

     They were waiting for him outside, weren't they?

     Fuck. 

     Think Heere, think. Jeremy breathed in and out slowly, but his efforts were in vain. His heart hammered in his chest, like someone had replaced it with a jackhammer. His throat felt dry, and he wasn't even sure if he could leave the stall. 

     He'd lost. He'd backed himself into a grimy, linoleum corner. He'd been avoiding it for so long that... he didn't know anymore. 

     He had to take it. Then Chandler might leave him alone. Possibly. It was his best bet, anyways. he had no other options left. He took a breath, and froze for a second. 

     No. He had to do this. Something brave like that. 

     Jeremy put his phone in his backpack, in between his most boring subjects. Chandler might not be interested in his outdated blackberry, but he wouldn't put it past her to break it just to spite him. After he'd done that, he surveyed the door for a moment before slowly walking over to it and pushing it open.

     The moment he crossed the threshold he was grabbed. One of the jocks from earlier yanked him to them and pinned his arms behind his back. The door shut, and the other faced him, leering. 

     "You know what's gonna happen, right?" 

     Jeremy didn't dignify that with a response. His heart was still doing a tap dance routine. The jock scowled. 

     "Not a talker, then?" 

     Jeremy still stayed silent. He got socked in the gut.

     "Fine. Have it your way, nerd."

     The next half an hour was hell. Every part of Jeremy was bruised by the end. His nose was even more off, and his knees felt like jelly. He was seeing stars and by the time they let him go he just slumped against the wall. He looked down at his feet miserably, and he wanted to cry. he didn't ask what he did to deserve this. He knew well what he did. 

     He decided he hated Ohio. 

     Eventually, a teacher found him. They took him to the nurse and asked what happened. Jeremy stayed silent the entire time. When his dad picked him up, he begged to know what happened. 

     Jeremy's mouth stayed shut. 

     "At least get something to eat," his father sighed. He poured Jeremy something that was the color of a dying lime. "It's a new recipe." his father told him. Jeremy didn't much care. He just ached. 

     "You're not going to school tomorrow," his father said, as if that'd reassure him. "They'll catch whoever did this, I promise." 

     Jeremy nodded vaguely. He drained the cup and asked meekly, "What'd you put in this?" 

     "Some lemons, a lime or two. I tried using some mountain dew as well, for the electrolytes." Jeremy stiffened in horror. 

     "W-what flavor was it?" his father frowned at him, confused and a bit alarmed. 

     "The green stuff. Why?"

     No way. No. Nonono. He couldn't've just done that. He couldn't've. It was supposed to be off! 

     "Jeremy?" 

     The boy in question shot up and sprinted to his room. He shut the door behind him and locked it. His heart began to tap dance once more. He didn't just drink mountain dew. Not after he'd been so good at avoiding it. It couldn't happen. It shouldn't happen. It didn't get to happen to him. Not now. 

      _Recalibration in process. Please excuse some mild discomfort._

No. 

     _Recalibration process complete. Access procedure initiated._

Jeremy silently begged for it to stop.

_Discomfort level may increase._

Jeremy felt a sharp pain in his temple. He clutched his head, silently mouthing 'No.' over and over again. 

      _Accessing: neural memory. Accessing: muscle memory. Access procedure: complete._

Jeremy wanted to scream. 

      _Jeremy Heere. Welcome back to your super quantum unit intel processor - your SQUIP._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again.
> 
> My awkwardness has graced this website once more, and this chapter was honestly so much fun to write. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. I'll try to get the next chapter out soon, but inspiration for me is like my social battery - often short-lived. That being said, something's finally happening! Only after forty thousand words! Huzzah!
> 
> 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	18. Rebooted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins.

**Jeremy didn't** even get to be in denial.

     The pain his head hit a crescendo that made him see black spots for a second. His knees buckled. When he opened his eyes (And had straightened himself), he couldn't even shut them. He wanted to oh so desperately. Wanted this to be just one big, surreal dream. It'd be a crappy dream, but at least it wouldn't be real. He wasn't a big fan of reality right now. 

      _Well,_ the SQUIP's perfect voice sounded in his head,  _this is quite the situation you've gotten yourself into, isn't it?_

Jeremy gawked. He could do that, at least. Everything else about him was frozen in place. Literally. Jeremy wasn't even able to make a sound, aside from his breathing. Even then, it was being forcibly slowed by an invisible force he wasn't able to fight. He felt his heartbeat getting slower, too. The adrenaline was fading. 

     He was being forced to be calm. 

     "No," he said, and he wanted to cry. But he couldn't. The tears that should've been coming just weren't. It was strange, being calm when you didn't even want to. Even his voice was steady. "I got rid of you." The SQUIP frowned at him. 

      _You shut me off temporarily, Jeremy. I was never really gone._

"I don't want you." Jeremy told the SQUIP flatly. He was surprised he was even being allowed to talk. 

      _I may have been... hasty, the last time. I will concede that. The following months did not turn out in your favor, to say the least._

Jeremy glared at the SQUIP. 

     "And who's fault is that?" 

     That's what he would've asked if his jaw hadn't clenched up. The SQUIP shook its head at him, and forced him to sit on the edge of his bed. It sat down next to him and when Jeremy didn't move to face it he was forced to do that to.  

      _Do remember I can read your thoughts, Jeremy. You do not have to verbalize them._

Jeremy tried not to think. To pull a blank in his head. Not give the SQUIP the satisfaction of getting to read his thoughts.

      _You're failing at not thinking, Jeremy._

     Shit.

      _Language, Jeremy. Cursing is not necessarily attractive to females. Better to stop before you slip up._

     Jeremy wanted to give the SQUIP the finger. He had no interest whatsoever in talking to Keanu Reeves if he was computerized smurf. Much less about the train wreck he called a social life.

      _I only want to help, Jeremy. That's all I've ever wanted to do._

Jeremy called bull on that. 

      _You resisted my directions, Jeremy. If you had followed my plan, your school would have loved you._

Right, Jeremy thought. A hivemind. It's not they're people or anything. He shook his head and began to turn away, gripping the edge of his bed tightly, and was again forced to look at the SQUIP. It's form (Projection?) surveyed him tiredly. Like a parent patiently waiting for their kid to make their bed. 

      _That was the only option, Jeremy. Don't blame me for your social ineptitude._

That hit harder than Jeremy wanted to admit. He'd contemplated (Brooded, really) on the fact that a super computer came to the conclusion that he needed a hivemind to stay popular. Just to have a girl he liked like him back. It genuinely hurt that that was what the SQUIP thought it had to do. 

      _Jeremy,_ the SQUIP's voice softened in his head, and it placed a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. He felt it there, too. He would've spit on it if he'd been able. It was fake. There was no hand on his shoulder. It was just his nerves being stimulated against his will. That was both weird and creepy.  _I know what happened. It was horrible. And this Chandler girl isn't making things any easier on us._

There wasn't any 'us' to Jeremy. It was only him. Him and his screwed up personal life. 

      _I can help you, Jeremy. Just listen to me._

Jeremy snorted. So he could get into more fake relationships? So a bunch of dumb, vapid teenagers could hate him behind his back? No. That was more idiotic than the thinking that convinced him to get the SQUIP in the first place. 

      _We won't have to do that. Do you remember when your friend JD-_

Fired a gun in school? Yeah, Jeremy remembered that. he could still hear the shouting and screaming, and see the inexplicable calm on JD's face. The SQUIP thought he'd forget that anytime soon? 

      _Yes. That. Jeremy, let me ask you - do remember what you told Chandler before she kicked you in the nose?_

Jeremy unconsciously covered his sense of smell. He nodded reluctantly. He remembered what he told her - he believed it, too, but it didn't do anything. Nothing changed. She was just as petty and smug as before. 

      _I wouldn't be so sure of that,_ the SQUIP got up, and began to pace back and forth like it was thinking hard. After a moment, he snapped his fingers and suddenly (Somehow) Jeremy was in the cafeteria. Chandler was stabbing his arm with her nails again. He didn't trip, thankfully, but that was only because the SQUIP forced him to stand up and not fall over like he would've done. 

    "What the-?" Jeremy asked, and the SQUIP gave him a smile. Jeremy stared around him for a moment before going right back to glaring. He didn't need to see this again. He wasn't even aware the SQUIP could do something like this. 

      _What you are seeing right now is a 3-D visualization program. It access both your memory and your eyes to recreate the memory. Sadly, first person is the only point of view I am capable of. You have an impressive memory, by the way._

Jeremy felt bile rising in his throat. He didn't want compliments from Skynet in a tic-tac. 

      _What you said, Jeremy - it's true. She is insecure. She knows it. And she knows you know it. We can use that._

Jeremy looked to his left. Then he was shoved hard, sending him stumbling back into the cafeteria doors. The SQUIP chose not to keep him upright this time. Or maybe it couldn't have. Jeremy just knew when he hit the floor, the pain was every bit as real as it was. Or was it real again? He was looking at a memory but... oh, forget it. Jeremy snorted as the memory paused again. The SQUIP loomed over him. 

      _See what I mean?_ it asked,  _Incidents like these degrade her social standing._

So if he just sacrificed a normal nose people would rise up or something? The response to that idea was somewhere between 'You're high, dude.' and 'You're drunk', with 'You're not good to drive' a long ways ahead of it. The SQUIP patiently smiled and folded their hands together. A small part of Jeremy got worried at that.

_It does make a difference, Jeremy. You likely won't see it, sadly, but change will happen._

It sounded pretty good when the SQUIP put it like that. Too good. Jeremy continued to glare. The SQUIP held up it's hands in a placating gesture. A second after, the cafeteria and Chandler's murderous face vanished, and Jeremy was back in his room. He blinked and, in his disorientation, managed to fall face forward onto the floor. Jeremy rubbed his h  ead as he heard steps down the hall. The teen quickly scrambled to his feet and reached the door just as his father began knocking. 

     "Jeremy? Are you alright? I didn't mean anything by the mountain dew, there's always sprite in the fridge if you want it," his dad probably would've continued, but Jeremy opened the door. He nodded his head miserably. It was surprisingly hard to do, actually; he was so stressed all of his emotions were blending into one big shitstorm. 

      _Language, Jeremy._

"Okay," his dad said after a moment. "I'm ordering pizza, by the way. What toppings do you want?" 

     "Anything," Jeremy answered honestly. Then, after a moment, he added, "You wouldn't mind just giving me space, would you? I just... I need to think."

     "Alright," his father finally said. There was another space of awkward silence between them. Jeremy slowly shut his bedroom door, locking it just to be sure, and saw the SQUIP was still sitting on his bed. 

      _You really shouldn't eat that. But, I suppose a few slices every now and then won't hurt your figure._

Jeremy went right back to glaring. No way was he taking crap about his diet from something that didn't even eat. 

      _I don't need to eat food to know about the dangers of too much cholesterol, Jeremy. Though from what I'm seeing, you have taken my dietary recommendations to heart. Good idea avoiding that cafeteria food, by the way. That 'meatloaf' was a nutritional catastrophe._

Jeremy was stiff as a board. He wasstill glaring. Yes, he had taken what the SQUIP had said about his diet seriously. It wasn't leaving him starving and he'd felt a bit better about himself, and he needed every positive thing he could get at the time. He hadn't even noticed it, if he was honest. His glare faltered a bit. 

      _Anyways. Back to how we get you out of this social mess._

Jeremy wanted the SQUIP to stop using we. The only we he was thinking of was the one he hoped he hadn't done in his pants. He didn't want the SQUIP's help. 

      _But you need it,_ the SQUIP said,  _I know how to get you out of this position. Don't you want that?_

Did he want to get Chandler out of his life? Yeah. Did he want help from the thing that kept him up with nightmares? No way. He'd take the beatings from the jocks any day.

      _Would you? Really, Jeremy; you don't have to suffer through this._

Chandler would run out of jocks eventually, Jeremy thought. Then I'd be home free. 

     _And then what? Put up with another year of abuse from the popular girls?_

Jeremy's expression turned murderous. 

     _Not to mention how the athletes would treat you. It'd be Rich all over again. Jeremy..._ the SQUIP got up and approached him. Its computerized eyes looked him in the eyes.  _Don't you deserve better?_

     "No," Jeremy shot back fiercely. "I don't deserve better. Everything about me is terrible."

      _Alright,_ the SQUIP said, and it sounded sad. _Have it your way. But Jeremy, let me tell you: I believe you deserve better._

Then it dissolved into pixels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. This is fun. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. A bit short, but I want to really dive into Jeremy and the SQUIP's interactions, and how conniving the latter of them is. The next chapter will probably take a bit, because I have a few different avenues I could take and I'm still not certain yet. Any comments/kudos/bookmarks will be greatly appreciated. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	19. The Devil's In the Tic-Tac Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life's a beach.

      **Jeremy didn't** expect that. 

     The SQUIP hadn't ever acquiesced so quickly. It always fought him; tore his arguments down piece by piece until he could only hang his head and obey. It's what convinced him to start with Brooke who, while pretty and surprisingly kind, had only captured his interest because, frankly, she was the only one showing interest. The SQUIP didn't give up or smile and nod while he did something stupid. It wasn't supposed to do that. 

     It could make his body move. Force him to kiss well when he hadn't any experience. Make him calm down. Force him to grin and laugh. The SQUIP could turn him into an overly-lanky ken doll. So why had it just let him off? 

     Jeremy rubbed his arm. He expected some snarky remark from the SQUIP. 'That isn't as cute as you think it is,' it would say, 'Break the habit. You need every bit of attractiveness you can get.' 

     But it didn't. And that unnerved him. 

     Was it part of some plan? The SQUIP had always struck Jeremy as a schemer. The villain who monologues just enough to draw the hero out of their trap only to get them stuck in another, larger trap. Probably with explosives or something. That had to be what it was. 

     It hadn't shocked him yet. Jeremy could at least be thankful for that. He supposed they were never real shocks - just more stimulations of his nerves to match the consistency and pain of shocks. He gingerly walked over to his desk and sat down, feeling numb. He had to tell someone. 

     Michael. His friend would have to come through. He would have to. He needed to or else Jeremy would be stuck doing whatever the SQUIP wanted him to do. He could end up with another Halloween. The boy shivered. Yes, he definitely needed to get to Michael. 

 

* * *

 

     The movie really was bad.

     Michael loved it.

     He loved the arms that had wrapped around his midsection. The chin resting on his right shoulder and the hands he was holding. The fond, adorable face that would grin at him incessantly whenever he glanced back. Despite the fact that Nicole was a head shorter than him, she'd always preferred to hold him like some sort of headphone-d teddy bear whenever they got moments like this. And Michael was just plain happy to be with her, no fine print. 

     They both loved their bad movies, so it didn't take long for this to happen; a bad movie, some cuddling and microwave popcorn, and an endless stream of interruptions from them. They'd do that for hours a night, and it was the closest thing to heaven that Michael had found. Maybe some videogames afterward, something a bit more risqué following that, and then falling asleep, both of them smiling like dopes.

     Then his phone vibrated. Michael freed one of his hands, while the movie droned on. He slipped it into his pocket and pulled out his phone, stiffening when he saw who had just texted him.

      _"Priscilla! Your face is melting a lot!"_

Nicole snorted, and looked at her boyfriend's phone, frowning when she saw the name of the contact.

     Jeremy Heere wasn't a bad kid, Michael had insisted. But whatever he'd done at the play last year had royally ticked off the school; she distinctly remembered how many times Michael had to help him through the day, especially after his girlfriend, Christine, broke up with him. Nicole had offered help out of courtesy, if she was being truly honest, but Jeremy mainly turned to Michael for support. 

     Then he moved away and, though she felt sort of guilty, she was happy that she got so much more time with her boyfriend. Moreover, though, she saw how it hurt Michael that Jeremy essentially left their friendship to rot. And that made Jeremy something of an annoyance to her. He hurt someone she really cared about, and though he tried to hide it as best he could, it was hurting him more every day. Then there was that freak news report about some guy named Jason who fired a gun at Jeremy's new school, which sent Michael into full-on fretting mode.

     He hadn't called Jeremy though. Instead, Jeremy's ex convinced him that she should, considering that Jeremy and Michael hadn't spoken in a while. Nicole was torn between telling her that was very, very stupid and not wanting Michael to get hurt. In the end, Christine had called Jeremy, and when Michael asked her how it went, Nicole just squeezed his hand. 

     "He said he got kicked in the nose!" Christine bit her lip in exasperation, "What kind of school lets that happen?" 

     "I remember when he told me he pissed her off," Michael said slowly. There was another thing he left out: that that had been weeks ago. Nicole's friends looked uncomfortable. 

     "He'll be fine," Nicole assured him with a small smile, "It's like you told me. He's a good person deep down. He'll find good people there eventually." Michael didn't looked very assured. 

     "I guess," he murmured. Nicole internally shook her head. This kid seemed like way more trouble than he was worth.

     "Uh..." back in the present, Michael interrupted her memory, "I need a moment." Michael unwrapped her arms from him and got up, going to the bathroom. He shut the door. Nicole felt hurt and confused. She'd gotten a glimpse at his phone and read what had been sent:

      _It's on. Please help._

Internally, Nicole shook her head. 

 

* * *

 

     The first thing Michael did the next day was grab Christine at lunch. The moment she entered the room, he shot up, grabbed her wrist, and marched the two of them out of the cafeteria. He felt Nicole's raised brows following him. He sighed and brushed it off. He'd explain this later. Christine fumbled with her words as Michael found a secluded corner and turned to face her. 

     "Mike? What's wrong?" she asked worriedly. Michael looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Michael?" 

     "Jeremy's SQUIP is on again," he finally said. Christine blinked, and then she forced a smile, while most of her was beginning to freak out. No way, she thought. He isn't that stupid. She forced chuckle.

     "Funny," she said. "But there's no way Jeremy would do that, Mike. He hated his SQUIP more than anything. You know that." Michael shook his head.

     "No. Christine. I'm serious." Christine felt a chill cascade down her back. Her SQUIP still made her uncomfortable with the hard truths it revealed about herself. The last time she'd talked to Jeremy about his SQUIP, he refused to even so much as mention it. She could still see the pain in his eyes when they had that conversation. 

     "O-okay," she responded uncertainly, "Was it an accident?" Michael ran a tired hand down his face. 

     "He told me everything last night. Jeremy said he got jumped by these jocks at school and they beat him up really badly. Then, when he got home, he tried this new drink his dad made - it had mountain dew in it, apparently. He told me he ran to his room and it turned on."

     "And he was still able to call you?" Christine frowned. "Aren't SQUIPs able to control your body or something? Why would it let him call you?" Michael nodded tensely.

     "Yeah. That confused me too. Jeremy just said he needed help when I asked about it. I... I think there's something he's not telling us." There was another line Michael hadn't included, but silently rang in his head:  _Jeremy didn't tell me._

     His best friend for over ten years wasn't telling him something. And that stung. Christine's frown deepened with worry. 

     "You still have some of the stuff that turns it off, right?" 

     "No," Michael said quietly, "I don't. I've been trying to find some for months. But it's all really expensive, and I can't just blow three hundred bucks on mountain dew and not have my parents notice."

     "I'd pay," Christine said firmly. "I don't care how. I'd help." She knew how much the SQUIP's antics had hurt Jeremy, and there were very few people who'd be able to help out with this. She still occasionally was struck by a rogue memory of a time Jeremy narrowly aborted a panic attack, or had just started giving the wall a thousand-yard stare. Christine wasn't going to let that thing hurt a friend again.

     "Thanks," Michael said, still quiet. "I think my guy at Payless might be able to do something." Michael knew he was moving soon, though to where he had no idea. He'd checked with him before and hadn't found any mountain dew red in stock, but he had to try. 

 

* * *

 

     The SQUIP didn't try anything initially. Perhaps it had had its fun for the time being. Maybe it just liked watching Jeremy suffer. The boy wasn't sure about much when it came to the super computer in his head, except that it was giving him a boatload of stress.

     It was the worst kind of stress; the kind that wouldn't ever leave you alone. That lurked in the back of your head, with enough presence to make sure that there was no way you'd not think about it. The breed that was just _there_ no matter what, always coming back in full force when whatever distractions you can scrape up run out of steam. 

     Jeremy didn't get a response from Michael initially. When his dad came in with pizza, he took the plastic plate, gave a thank you, and then when the door was shut promptly set said pizza down on his desk and didn't touch it for the next two hours. 

     He felt like he'd been punched in the gut by Muhammed Ali. His bruise were still throbbing vaguely, like they too wanted a slice of his wit's-end attention. To distract himself, he put on a livestream, which he eventually shut off because he couldn't focus on it. He could focus, all right, but it was on something that could've brought humanity to its knees so a sixteen year-old could be popular.

     Jeremy laid about his room, eventually taking a few half-hearted bites out of his pizza but giving up on eating shortly thereafter. It was what, only a few days ago that JD had fired in the cafeteria? It felt like ten years had passed. Jeremy's father put ice on his son's injuries, which was met with protest. He didn't know why he didn't want the ice, Jeremy just plain didn't. He gave in anyways.

     When his phone vibrated, Jeremy almost jumped out of his seat. Then it continued vibrating and he scowled. Great. Now he got to have chit-chat over the phone with someone he hadn't talked to in weeks. Joy of joys. 

     He took his phone out of his pocket, and something in the boy deflated when he saw that, in fact, it was Christine again. A sliver of him said he should've expected something from her, and Jeremy sighed as he picked up.

     "Hi," he said lamely, "What's up?" 

      _"Jeremy,"_ Christine's voice was soft.  _"Michael told me what happened. Are you okay? The SQUIP hasn't tried something already, has it? I know how hard it wa-"_

"No," Jeremy cut in, some of his stress bleeding into his voice. He ran a hand through his hair. His throat felt dry. It was one thing when he was worrying about the SQUIP in his own personal echo chamber, but talking about it with someone else made him profoundly uncomfortable. "It hasn't."

     He hated that he wasn't able to talk. Just talk without overthinking. Or maybe not get himself into fiascos like this. 

     Christine was silent for awhile. Jeremy wondered what she thought of him. Did she respect him? Resent him like Brooke or Chloe? Or did she just want nothing else to do with him like Rich? Ugh. Jeremy rubbed his temple, and he half-expected to hear 'Target female inaccessible'. He didn't though.  _"That's... that's horrible, Jer. It can't be good... I mean, what if it's trying to manipulate you? Or maybe it already is?"_

Jeremy didn't like the thought that the SQUIP would try and turn him into some popular fop again. He knew that that was probably true, but it didn't make it feel any better. Even so, he was jarred by the sheer... affection it seemed to have. With the operating word being 'seemed'. The first time around, it tore his original personality down element by element, piece by piece until he was a blank, malleable slate for it. Jeremy bit his lip. How do you fight manipulation you aren't even sure is happening? 

     "Yeah," Jeremy bit his lip, "I guess. It probably is, but I'm not sure what it'd be trying to be honest." 

      _"Jeremy?"_ even through his phone's outdated speaker, Jeremy heard her hesitation. He tensed.  _"Michael couldn't find any mountain dew red. He's trying, but its expensive and... well, y'know... we're not sure when we'll be able to get it you."_

Jeremy felt like someone had called up Muhammed Ali again. He stared dumbly at the wall for what felt like forever. 

     He didn't have a way to get it off. The last guy who tried to get his off was currently in an insane asylum. No. There had to be some loophole here. "I'll pay," he said automatically. 

      _"I know,"_ Christine said,  _"We will get it to you as soon as possible, though. I promise."_

"Yeah," Jeremy responded quietly. "And thanks. For... for everything." A moment later, he hung up. 

     He flopped onto his bed, and rolled over to stare at his comforter. Life was getting creative, he'd give it that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm happy with this. 
> 
> I'm also happy to say I can finally only focus on this story. Delving into the realities of what the SQUIP they set up in the musical can do will be fun. For me, anyways. You'll all probably question my sanity but hey, at least the writing's good! 
> 
> Any sort of response would make my day, and feel completely free to tell me what you think! :) 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	20. The Devil's In the Tic-Tac Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the fun begins.

      **School. Right.**

That was still a thing. 

     Jeremy only just pulled himself out of bed when his alarm went off. His dreams were fuzzy and involved a mall and a janitor's closet. Also some anime girl that made Jeremy blush just to think about. 

     He trudged over to his desk and turned off his alarm, beleaguered. He yawned loudly, not finding it in him to be overly concerted over his volume. As he rubbed the water out of his eyes, he trudged over to his closet. He normally would've just grabbed another pair of pants, a t-shirt, and his cardigan and called it a day. he didn't this time, though. Jeremy nearly traded his cardigan for a hoodie with a SNES controller stitched onto it, before he replaced with a simple gray one with nothing on it. He decided he wanted something more unremarkable today.

     He was very dubious of his attire's ability to distract people from the black eyes he was sporting, but he supposed it was something. Or maybe he just wanted to never see the same clothes he wore on the day he unintentionally tossed an entire toolbox into whatever plans he might've had. Probably that, if he was honets with himself. 

     Jeremy got ready for school with as little energy as he could manage. He knew he'd need it soon and, really, he still felt numb. 

     The SQUIP was on again. The thing that had nearly forced him to lose his virginity. That could force him to not see something that was right in front of him. That could make him speak a mind that wasn't his own. That could condition him to do anything. Not only that, but he didn't know when he'd get to turn it off - a million things could go wrong, in sum. And the things that could go right he was able to count on with a single finger. 

     Jeremy flipped the bathroom mirror the bird after he'd gotten dressed. He briefly considered shaving, but shrugged. People would be staring at his face so much a little facial hair was the least of his worries. His hair was a disorganized mess, but he opted to just let it be a bedhead. Water, he'd learned, would only and inevitably make it worse. And between the lesser of those minor evils, Jeremy chose the former. There had to be some chance he could pull off the messy-haired look, right?

     His soggy frosted flakes remained untouched during breakfast.

     "I'm sorry they wouldn't let you stay home," his father said, bagel drooping. "Makes me wish I'd majored in tort law." he added the last part with forced levity. Not that Jeremy would've smiled either way. He felt like his dad's bagel. 

     Jeremy locked the door behind him with a sigh. The sky was an overcast gray, like it was on his first day. 'Cause seeing the sun in November? That was impossible. Blasphemy. How else was the weather supposed to depress him? Scowling, he added it to his list of crap New Jersey and Ohio shared. 

     A nervous anxiety clawed at him on his walk to the bus. It settled right next to his angst over everything comfortably, and started up a cheery conversation about whether or not he'd get beat up again. Jeremy found himself tapping his foot against the pavement as he waited for the bus. He tapped his foot against the cracked sidewalk, his cheeks pinked. he smoothed out his hair at least three times. His eyes flicked about the drab landscape, trying to find anything to distract him, if even for a moment. 

     Then his eyes fell on the spot where JD had met him for the first time outside school. His mind half-formed the image of him, black trenchcoat and deceptively dark hair, standing there. Jeremy shook his head. Jokingly, he'd called JD Light then. Now... Jeremy shook his head again. Then his eyes flicked over to the woods, and something in him froze. The same woods where he'd been lead to that mystical, untouched, somehow still profitable Seven-Eleven. Jeremy glared, and looked firmly away from both spots. 

     JD was the same guy who brought a gun to school. Someone who  _fired_ it in broad daylight. Jeremy would be better talking to no-one than a guy like that. At least being alone meant that the other guy couldn't literally hide a gun up his sleeve. 

     At last, the bus came. Jeremy was torn between being thankful for the distraction, and nervous for the day. The two football players, his dad had told him, were suspended. Jeremy wasn't that surprised, but he worried about the reaction of their friends. Stupid guys would always be stupid, but when they clocked in with over fifty pounds muscle more than you, they were something to worry about. Jeremy scowled as he got on, putting on a brave face. 

     Kids gave him sidelong glances; they whispered amongst themselves, and Jeremy's stoic expression was crumbling by the time he got to the back. He slid into the seat, which was empty ( _As usual_ , he thought). Jeremy sat down and turned away from the people across from him. He was aware of the way one of them was looking at him. He thought that was dumb. 

     This was all dumb. None of it made sense. But it was all unfolding, and he was at the center of it. 

     So much for staying out of trouble. 

     Jeremy watched the dull landscape pass by, the urge to cry adding itself to his volatile melting pot of emotions. He wanted some out let for all this. Talking with Michael or Christine just made him feel guilty. He'd abandoned one and hadn't talked to the other for months until this year. Jeremy felt the weight of his phone in his pocket like it was lead. 

     Then the bus lurched to a halt at Page's stop. As per the usual, she met Jeremy's eye before the bus stopped, and Jeremy felt so tired he only looked away after two whole seconds. He wondered if the brunette had the ability to teleport, because all-too soon she was at his seat. God. Was he really feeling that numb? The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was Page He never really liked Page, he was sure; she just inserted herself into his life, and the way she acted made him supremely uncomfortable. 

     He didn't know what she wanted from him. He wasn't good with people, he was awkward as all get-out, and though she  _said_ she didn't buy into the gossip around him and JD, how could he be sure? Heck, it didn't seem like he was even popular at all. He offered nothing. Unless... no. He wasn't going to follow that line of reasoning anywhere. Wherever it'd take him wouldn't be good, he was confident. Could he even keep a girlfriend right now to begin with?

     Page sat down next to him, giving him some distance. "Hey,"

     Jeremy continued scowling out the window, clenching his jaw. After spending weeks trying to do whatever the heck she wanted to do, could she just leave?

     "That hoodie looks nice," Page commented. Jeremy grunted a 'Thanks'. "I heard about what happened yesterday." 

     "Cool," Jeremy responded in a tone that was more angry than he expected. More venomous words were tumbling out of his mouth in short order, and his scowl became a glare. "It was a blast." 

     Page surveyed him for a second. Then she slowly came to grasp his hand. Jeremy winced. Page did as well, and she briefly wondered exactly what the fuck had happened to make him that jumpy. She held his hand in a steel grip, fingers practically trapping Jeremy's. After a few moments where the boy tried to get his hand free, he finally turned to her, hand still in hers. The girl looked him in the eye steadily, squeezing it. 

     "It's shitty," she said, and Jeremy blinked. "What Chandler did. The two jackasses deserved what they got, if you ask me." Jeremy nodded slowly. Pages hand was warm, compared to how cold his was feeling. The temperature differential was it's own brand of nice. Strange, unexpected nice, but nice. He looked away. This - he wasn't expecting this to go this way. 

     He was still kinda uncomfortable, but he couldn't not appreciate how she was empathizing with him.

     "I guess," he said quietly. Page huffed. She scooted closer to him, weirdly wraith-like. Jeremy shifted a bit as she picked up his chin.

     "Jer - can I call you Jer?" she asked. Jeremy blinked again, and after a moment he shook his head hesitantly. Page nodded. "Alright. Jeremy, don't let this get you down. You have no idea, but it's honestly hilarious watching Chandler when she's around you. I don't know how you do it, but you get under skin really well. I'm not sure about the rest of this school, but _I_ know it makes it a bit easier to live in that place. So keep your chin up. 'Cause nothing will dig at her more than to know you're still kicking after a beating. Okay?" 

     Jeremy stared at her, feeling his face go red. 

     "T-thanks!" he stammered, making Page giggle. Her hand ghosted across his face to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Jeremy's blush deepened. His voice came out thick. "T-that's... um... just - wow. T-thanks..." 

     Page smiled at him. Smiled at him in a way no-one else had since he and Christine broke up. Jeremy felt his lips quirking upward. 

     "No problem," she said, and she moved her hands back to herself, after giving his hand one last squeeze. Jeremy sat there awkwardly for a second. 

     "So..." he said, scrambling to think of something to say. They shared a class. Math. Math class. Right. That was relevant. "You study much for the upcoming test?" Jeremy accidentally ended up drawing out the last word. Page giggled again. 

     "Kinda," she shrugged, "I'm more a of cramming person to be honest." 

     "Me too!" Jeremy replied, a bit too enthusiastically. "Um, me too. I get distracted easily. Maybe I should take my MacBook out of my room..." Page shook her head, giggling a third time. Jeremy felt pleasantly surprised. Was he really that funny?

     "I know I should," she said, swinging her legs idly. "But like, I'm terrible with keeping up my schedules. Y'know?" Jeremy nodded. 

     "Yeah, it's pretty much the same story here. S-schedules are hard." 

     "Why try that when there's caffeine, right?" Page said. Jeremy laughed. Actually, really laughed. He felt like it had been years since he laughed. Then they descended into awkward silence again. It was Page who came up with a topic this time. 

     "Do you have Mr. Krikor?" she inquired, and Jeremy gave a sluggish incline of the head. 

     "Yep," he answered darkly. "My hand won't let me forget it."  

     "Isn't there a test on Friday?" Page asked. Jeremy jumped, swearing. 

     "I forgot!" he cried. "Thanks for reminding me." Page smiled sweetly. 

     "No problem," she shrugged again, and the bus lurched as it stopped in front of the school. Jeremy became aware just then that the people across from them were looking at him and Page like they'd just crawled out of a sewer. Noticing this, Page snapped, "Don't pay attention to them. They don't understand us." 

     Jeremy wasn't entirely sure if he agreed with that, but people started to get up before he could express that. Page got up as well, and she marched off the bus, shoving people out of her way. She was standing completely straight, similar to Duke, and shot him a final, smaller yet encouraging smile as she got off. Jeremy joined the back of the line, his head buzzing. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say, really. This chapter is a bit shorter than I'd like it to be, but it found a resolution I didn't want to ruin. Not just yet. 
> 
> As it will always be, any and all kudos, comments, and bookmarks will be duly noted. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	21. The Devil's In the Tic-Tac Part 3

      **The next** week was hell. 

     A heavily perfumed, snooty hell. 

     The walk to Jeremy's locker immediately sent whatever positivity he could've had twelve feet under. People whispered as he passed, and gazes strayed to and lingered on his face. Some of the more geeky guys almost appeared sympathetic, but most of them quickly looked away once Jeremy met their eyes. Most of the girls did ditto. It seemed the fairer sex was actually made up of sugar and spice and everything cowardly, as far as Jeremy could tell. In any case, when a burly guy in a plaid-pattern shirt whose buttons looked on the verge of popping yanked Jeremy toward him, no-one helped.

     "Listen punk," the boy snarled, and Jeremy thought his face looked rather like a disgruntled bulldog. "Dick and Tim are suspended 'cause of you. Did you even think about what'll happen at the homecoming game?" Jeremy, after stuttering for a moment, shook his head. Jock-McGee glared at him, and shoved him into a group of D&D players. They didn't catch him. Jeremy groaned, but Felix Football had other ideas.

     "Trying to play dumb, you little shit?" he growled. When Jeremy didn't respond, he pulled him up by the collar. Jeremy could smell the Five Guys in his breath. For a moment he flinched, thinking he was about to get another beating, when he was unceremoniously dropped. Jeremy stumbled, and the jock gave him a final glare before stalking down the hall.

     The hall was silent. The other students slowly started up their conversations, and Jeremy rubbed the back of his head as he got up. The D&D guys who he got shoved into appeared a tad afraid of him, like he was a walking barrel of radioactive waste. Jeremy directed his eyes to the ground, feeling the hall's collective eye even more now. He gulped. 

     When he finally turned the corner to his locker, he let out a long sigh, and leaned against it. His hands traveled up to his hair, trying to smooth it, while he shut his eyes. He took a slow, deep breath and (After his backpack got snagged for a second inside the dent) Jeremy put his stuff inside. At least he wouldn't have to come back here to pack lunch, he guessed. 

     Jeremy trudged to first period, slouching. He scowled, and people gave him weird looks. The same look everyone who expresses anything more moody than 'Meh' gets. He wondered if any of them knew what empathy meant. Or, more likely, they were too afraid of the social retribution that'd come from showing him basic decency. 

     He nearly made it to Mr. Krikor's rapid-fire mini lecture hall when he heard a haughty giggle behind him. Jeremy rolled his eyes and kept walking. Ignore them. Just ignore them. 

     "Come on Heere, all I want to do is talk!" Duke cawed, "You aren't scared of  _girl_ are you?" 

     If she'd said disgusted, Jeremy might've agreed with her. As it stood, though, he took a moment to take a breath before starting his stride again. Ignore them. Ignore them and they'll go away. 

     "I heard about what happened yesterday," Duke said, voice dripping with mocking sweetness. Jeremy ground his teeth, but he kept walking. "It was shitty. Now we'll lose homecoming!" Duke sniffed like that caused her pain. Jeremy ground his teeth, but refused to stop walking. Giving them reactions would just give them motivation. Mr. Krikor's door was in sight when he felt a hand wrap around his wrist. Jeremy tried to wrench himself free, rolling his eyes. Duke's grip was like steel. Extremely infuriating, haughty steel. 

     "You really must be scared of me," Duke smirked. Jeremy glared down the hall for a few seconds before jerking his entire body forward. Duke yelped, but when Jeremy had regained balance she was still holding his wrist hostage. Jeremy attempted to just drag her behind him for a few moments, grunting heavily, before he slumped his shoulders and turned to her. Duke dug her nails into his wrist as she leaned right into his personal space. Jeremy saw that the bags under her eyes had gotten worse. "That's it, Heere." 

     She lowered her voice to whisper as her smirk became the most upper-lip curling sneer he'd ever seen. "So, I heard from a little birdie that someone has been rather flirty with you recently," Jeremy felt her hot breath on his nose and half-wanted another kick to his nostrils. Her breath smelled like sugar topped with sugar, sugar, and diabetes. "The story's a page-turner, if you ask me." 

     It took Jeremy a second to process that. Then he looked at his shoes. Duke leaned in even closer, to the point where she could've bitten off his ears. 

     "Let me tell you something, Heere. Girls like her are the worst. They're only into you for dick and nothing else. If you wanna make your life worse, go ahead. But that grave of yours will get another six feet added to it. Understand?" Jeremy stared at her.

     "Why are you giving me advice?" he blurted. Duke just sneered at him more, but something seemed off to her quarry as she snorted. 

     "You nerds always overthink shit," she said dismissively, and then a shrill chime reached Jeremy's ears. He stood there, frozen for a moment. He was confused and angry and shocked, and then Duke's form disappeared into Mr. Krikor's class. Jeremy gawked after her before numbly entering himself. He got scattered glances from kids, but most of them seemed to pay more attention to Duke. 

     "Well," Mr. Krikor said lightly, "Now that we're all here let's get started. Who can tell me the sculptor of the Athena Parthenos? Mr. Heere?" Jeremy blinked dumbly. 

     "Err... uh...." 

     "Phidias," Mr. Krikor said simply. "If you had been taking a test you would've lost your A. Now go sit down, Jerry." Jeremy stuttered, before slowly making the walk to his seat and slumping into it. Mr. Krikor began talking, but Jeremy didn't bother taking notes until five minutes into his lecture. Not that he could hear much with the two chatterboxes next to him. 

     "She's never been late," a girl whispered behind him. 

     "Yeah," her friend responded, "You remember before Chandler picked her up?"

     "That was like, middle school. But yeah, I do. She was soooooo emo back then." Chatterbox Two replied.

     "Do you remember her friend?" Chatterbox One asked. She sounded excited.

     "No?" Chatterbox Two sounded uncertain. 

     "Well, apparently that girl has been making moves on that Heere kid," 

     "No way."

     "Yes way," Chatterbox One grinned. 

     "But what does that have to do with anything?" Chatterbox Two was pulled in so her friend was talking directly into her ear. Jeremy didn't hear the rest, but his curiosity was soon overcome by the realization he hadn't written anything yet. He jumped slightly, and began feverishly listening, and jotted down things almost as fast as they were said. His hand hurt, but he needed these notes. 

     The entire time, though, he found his eyes drifting toward Duke. She was leaned back casually in her seat, seemingly determined to show the most skin she could without revealing anything serious. Jeremy was more interested in what he'd just heard, though. 

     Page and Duke had been friends at one point. Not only that, but the way they were talking about her made it sound like she was an outcast before she became friends with Chandler. Jeremy found it hard to imagine her as an emo kid, or just someone who didn't wear makeup out the wazoo. But if what they were saying was true... maybe he had more in common with her than he thought.

     God. Was he seriously empathizing with Heather Duke of all people? 

     Jeremy got up with a shaking head when the bell rang. He averted his eyes from Duke's form, hoping that that'd stop the questions swirling around his head. It didn't. 

 

* * *

 

     Jeremy spent Mr. Fedralson's class distracted. He couldn't be concerned with X's value or the relationship between A and C in the Pythagorean Theorem and how that was related to the law of cosines or anything the teacher presented, if he was honest. He'd find a way to pass either way, he knew. Most likely a night-long, caffeine way but a way nonetheless. 

     Along the way to class, he got more strange looks toward his bruises. He got shoved into a group of gossipers by some jocks, and one of them said, "Man, don't do that to them! They're people!"

     His bull-headed friends guffawed as they continued on down the hall, like that was the funniest thing in the world. Jeremy moved on as fast as he could, and against what his gut screamed he glanced back at the gossipers. He swore he caught 'Duke' and 'Totally freaked' as he left earshot. Jeremy kept his gaze down as he joined the line, and as he sat down. He got out his calculator and pencil glumly, giving an extremely hesitant wave when Page entered the room. Her mouth near instantaneously became a concerted frown of worry. Jeremy focused on Mr. Fedralson. 

     He had so many questions. Now that Page was literally right in front of them, his queries were bouncing around his head incessantly. Had she really been friends with Duke? If that was the case, did something happen? Jeremy bit his lip as his eyes bored into the back of her head, as if he could stare hard enough to get the answers right then and there.

     "Mr. Heere," Mr. Fedralson's voice cut into Jeremy's mental maelstrom, "I'm certain the young lady in front of you is very pretty, but I'd prefer if you could focus on the lesson." Jeremy started, quickly averting his eyes. He heard snickers from around him, which he did his utmost to dismiss as just typical teenage obliviousness. A few kids (Mainly girls, because of course they did) shot him curious, bemused glances. It took a minute or two for Jeremy to summon up the will raise his head so he could watch Mr. Fedralson. He noticed that Page was sitting a bit straighter, so he could see the outline of her shoulders and not just her hair. 

     Jeremy internally groaned as he got the homework for that night. He fought to keep his face neutral. Jeremy got up as quickly as he could, vacating the room as swiftly as he was able to manage without (He hoped) looking too weird. Knowing his track record, though, he most definitely appeared to have a prickly broom taped to his back.

     Third period went much like its two predecessors; stares on the walk there, getting called out in the middle of class, and whispers. Oh so many whispers. Like, seriously, there was only so much that could happen in a high school what could they all be talking about? Jeremy felt a growing exasperation as he joined the line outside his art class. It snuggled right into his chest, making him want to hit something. Maybe Duke. Or Chandler. Or maybe he could punch god for letting people like that exist. 

     That period, at the least, was easy enough. Not particularly fun - restarting a painting you already didn't have any interest in doing wouldn't make anyone happy, Jeremy told himself - but easy. He didn't have to fail at Impromptu Paint Dodgeball this time, so he considered that a plus. He wondered moodily if he still had gray in his hair. He was pretty sure Duke wouldn't've hesitated to mock him if he did, but she seemed different then. More tense. She seemed really, truly angered. Possibly, a part of him posited, jealous?

     He shook his head and cleaned out his brush in the cup of water next to his pallet, but he felt like in kinda made sense. If Duke and Page had been friends before Duke was accepted under Chandler's wing, then... Jeremy wasn't sure honestly, but he was sure Duke's out of character behavior was tied to Page. The more he mulled over what happened, to more sure he was sure something was off with Duke. Whether it was jealousy or drama or bitterness, he was just certain that something had been off. Jeremy shook his head again, shrugging, before realizing his cup of water was insanely murky. He sighed slightly as he got up and went over to the sink. He was in the middle of filling it again when he heard something tip over. He glanced over his shoulder, curious, and saw the boy who hit him with paint before lose control of his brush and send it flying right into the back of his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is going somewhere. 
> 
> If you're a stickler for clean language, I apologize. There's probably going to be a bit more than I incorporated earlier, so if anyone doesn't like that, feel free to find another story. Jeremy's not going to be in a place where he's gonna care about sounding like a grumpy sailor, and since I'm mainly writing from his perspective, there will be more. As well, we're dealing with teenagers, so cussing seems a bit par for the course. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, though. It was fun to write, and since I've finally decided on some type of theme for this piece (It only took me a year) I'm trying to incorporate it in. I... don't have much else to say, really. Soooooo: any and all comments/kudos/bookmarks would make my day, so if you could leave one of those I'd love you. If you feel like leaving comment, as well, don't feel like you have to hold back. I can take constructive criticism. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	22. The Devil's In the Tic-Tac Part 4

      **Jeremy groaned** after he brush hit him. He left the room with a glower that sent the poor boy who accidentally hit him into shaky apologies. 

     Initially, of course, he managed to jump so hard he dropped his cup. "Gah!"

     Jeremy wheeled around, and saw the boy, looking terribly embarrassed. He rushed over to Jeremy, knocking over another easel along the way. The guy whose painting he knocked over got a hasty 'I'm sorry!', which did nothing to stop him from glaring as he righted his easel. 

     "Oh man, I didn't mean to I just tripped a-and then my easel fell over and then I uh, kinda…"

     "Hit me in the head with a paint brush?" Jeremy finished with an exasperated edge. He narrowed his eyes, and picked up his cup, which had spilled and whose murky contents had snuck around his shoe like some sort of liquid snake. "Don't worry about it too much, man. This..." Jeremy trailed off awkwardly. 

     The boy stared at him for a moment, during which the silence became unbearably thick. "I'll clean up the ah, the water. You can go uh, clean up?" the boy winced, as if he expected a verbal lashing. Jeremy just huffed and half-walked, half-stomped toward the teacher. 

     "Can I get a pass?" he asked, more because he knew he it would be bad form if he didn't. The teacher scribbled a note, and Jeremy marched out of the room, wondering why now of all times that kid tripped. Or, heck, why did God make him so clumsy? Didn't he love everyone? If he really did, the back of his might not look like it had been grafted on from a guy in his fifties. Because gray hair working with his body? Yeah, no. 

     He supposed this didn't really matter. On an intellectual and school counselor level, he knew that. Or at least, it shouldn't've. But then again, he doubted any school counselor would do much at Westerberg. This school didn't just have a social construct - it had a social dictatorship. Over which Chandler presided, all-powerful, from the disgusting cafeteria whose food actually belonged in a totalitarian state to the most secluded corners where kids smoked pot. After a moment, he snorted. _Moby Dick_ wasn't rubbing off on him, was it?

     Jeremy rubbed his forehead, running a hand down his face languidly, groaning again. As he trudged down the hall, some of his anger bubbled up in the void of distraction. Exasperation added a good bit of kick, too, so he began glaring at nothing in short order. Duke hadn't commented on it yet, but he knew something would be said about it. He wasn't sure what that'd be, really, but he knew it'd be something. Because while soft, tender moments could happen, annoyances seemed like the more common draw.

     Could he officially declare happiness bankruptcy? Was that something he could do?

     The image that met Jeremy in the mirror wasn't inspiring: his nose was still off by numerous degrees, his black eyes were dark to the point that it looked like his real eyes had gotten trapped in some weird black quicksand. He couldn't see his eyebags, so he supposed that was something a plus. Still, he felt unnerved. The SQUIP was inside him. It was on. Plotting on how to do whatever the heck it was really programmed to do. And no-one would be able to tell a thing. 

     Jeremy focused as much as he could on clearing the maximum amount of grey out of his hair. It was just as fun as the last time. That is to say, he wanted to drop dead on the spot, because cleaning the back of your head when you cut your hair short was a nightmare. He couldn't even see his progress, either, so when he was pretty sure he'd spent about ten minutes too long in the bathroom he called it a very frustrated quits. Jeremy threw the paper tower he'd been using into the trash can.  

     Ha... no. Of course, he missed the shot. 

     Jeremy picked up the ratty, glorified toilet paper and threw it into the bin, along with five of its brethren, all of which looked like they'd murdered a lot of cement. Jeremy tore his eyes away from the sight, trying one last time to get a look at the back of his head. From what he saw, it didn't look that different from before. So, essentially, he'd gone from one point of crap right back into another. Jeremy rolled his eyes. That was just nice. 

     When he left the bathroom, he saw a girl in a blue blazer and skirt walking toward the girls' room.

     Veronica. Veronica something. Jeremy knew she, out of everyone in Chandler's little gang, probably had the least to do with it. He still shot her a venomous look, however. She didn't saw anything, nor respond in any way besides marching into the bathroom, eyes firmly on the floor. Jeremy felt a small amount of guilt as he re-entered class, which was quickly lost when the bell rang. 

     Jeremy collected his stuff, and when he saw the progress he'd made he felt a pang of worry. He was only halfway to where he needed to be if wanted this done anywhere near on-time. If he didn't finish it soon, he'd have to turn it in late, and there was absolutely nothing worse than the mug of a teacher getting something late. His art teacher, granted, wasn't super strict or anything, but Jeremy hadn't tested the Late Assignment Waters with her yet. It needed more work, and if he did it during lunch... Jeremy felt the faintest flickers of hope. A lunch without Chandler or Duke bearing down on him? He was up for that. 

 

* * *

 

     "No, sorry." was what the teacher said. Jeremy had forced a smile, and suddenly keeping it up became about a thousand times harder. 

     "Oh. That's um... okay. Thanks." he responded, quickly turning away from her and leaving the room, exactly zero spring in his step. 

     Startlingly fast, his simmering anger ate it up, making Jeremy want to hit something. He wove through the throng of students, careful to keep him and eye contact as far from intersecting as he could. He didn't look at anyone for more than a few seconds, at most. The majority of the time he flicked his faze between kids rapidly, so he needn't suffer their looks. And for a brief time it was actually pretty uneventful, Jeremy counted as a victory. Of course, it didn't take long for him to slip up. 

     By his judgement, he was halfway to his locker. Five more minutes, he thought. Five more minutes. He slipped past two sophomores who gawked at his back just before he disappeared from their view. Jeremy saw that, up ahead, a group of jocks and cheerleaders were being given way. At the head of the group, McNamara chittered away with a Kurt Kelly. It was slightly ridiculous, actually. Kurt had to look all the way down his nose at her because of her petite stature, and the way he had to crane his neck was just kinda funny. Especially when he almost tripped over himself from being so focused on her. That Jeremy could appreciate.

     But the way his friends strutted down the hall drowned out his amusement. They all grinned with an intensely arrogant and misogynist look in their eyes, one that made Jeremy nearly recoil from the sheer potency. None of the cheerleaders seemed to mind, either. Or if they did, they showed no signs of it. Most of them giggled at a pitch only a dog should hear, but that Jeremy heard nonetheless. They grinned as well, less sexism and more condescension in their gazes. One of them tutted a shy-looking freshman away from her, with aggressively perfect nails that glinted under the light. The freshman looked down at the floor, his red-faced and embarssed. One of the jocks shoved a sophomore two heads shorter than himself. The girl also looked down, cheeks pinked and her expression pained. 

     Jeremy knew he should do like the rest of the kids, but he was glaring before he knew it. Bile was teeming in him, ready to burst. Duke was weird, nothing was changing, and McNamara's sweet smile, the only one the group, was so egregiously sugary that Jeremy wondered how long it was until Kurtneeded to go to the nurse for insulin. If he knew what that was to begin with. His fists were clenching and while the logical part of his head pleaded to just stay on the sidelines, his anger snapped back that they'd probably notice him anyways. 

     So while everyone else pressed themselves against the lockers, he kept walking. At first, he wasn't noticed, but as the herd thinned, he eventually found himself the only one still walking. The group's eyes found him, incredulous, and they stiffened. The jocks looked slightly uncomfortable and the cheerleaders all simultaneously turned their eyes to McNamara. Jeremy's glare deepened, even as his pulse quickened and his cheeks pinked. A few of the Cheerleaders giggled at him, despite still not doing anything. McNamara continued to smile.

     "We're kinda walking here," she said, like it was funny. "You being in the way kinda gets in the way of that..."  _And you better move._ Jeremy filled in the last bit himself. He continued to glare and stand his ground, even though he was pretty sure he couldn't've been more ridiculous-looking at the moment. He had a black eye, a patch of grey hair on the back of his head, and his face was beet red. But he still refused to move.

     This was a terrible idea. 

     "Same for you," he responded as evenly as he could. His voice cracked on the last note. McNamara gave a tinkling laugh. 

     "Yeah, but we're walking, silly." she giggled, and Jeremy would've given anything to be in one of those slasher flicks Michael had loved (And which had terrified him, though he'd never admit that) back in middle school. Then the killer could jump out and stab McNamara with an oversized butcher's knife. 

     "So was I." Jeremy replied coolly. McNamara's smile became a bit more strained. 

     "How about you move and go do your nerd things?" she asked, and Jeremy heard snickers. On the outside, he bristled. He clenched his jaw.

     "No."

     McNamara laughed. Kurt stepped forward. Jeremy tensed, but McNamara soundlessly placed a hand on his chest, and strode forward until Jeremy was uncomfortable. She wasn't anywhere as close as Duke or Chandler preferred, which he was a fan of, but she was still close enough for the wolfishness in her face to show through. Her teeth were so bright and shiny that Jeremy was surprised they hadn't blinded him yet. 

     "Y'know, I wouldn't think you'd be dumb to say that," she told him, and Jeremy tensed even more. 

     "Maybe I am."

     "Now, don't be so hard on yourself!" McNamara said with biting sarcasm. The jocks and cheerleaders all laughed, without even a hint of hesitation. McNamara shot pointed glances to the people in the hall, and in no time they'd joined in too. Even the kids who'd been shoved laughed. Jeremy blinked when he noticed that, and before he knew it, he'd been muscled past by a jock, who was guffawing like no tomorrow. Jeremy scrambled to his feet as the other students began to move again, and while their laughter died down quickly, he had no interest in staying where he was. He marched down the hall, his expression stiff. 

     They were just afraid, he told himself. They didn't really think he was something to laugh at. Most of them seemed afraid of him, even! That was... that was...

     Jeremy turned the corner to his locker. People averted eye contact the entire way. He felt more female attention along the way, but the best of it was an even, contemplative frown. At its worst, he got sneers. Those came when athletes or kids wearing designer clothes were around, he noted. Jeremy was glaring when he finally opened his locker. With a dark look, he put his stuff away, and he had yet more troubled with the dent in it. 

     He decided he hated Ohio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy 100% is terrified of scary movies. You won't convince me otherwise.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Writing McNamara on her own was a bit harder than I expected, to be honest. She's a complete follower, yeah, but not in the way Duke is. With her, acting like Chandler seems like a given to me. But McNamara always struck me as being less obviously aggressive with her harassment. Less in-your-face. In the end decided to go for almost Umbridge-like mannerisms. A high-pitched giggle, using the word 'Silly', ect. Tell me if you think I got it right, I'm sure there are plenty of other reads on her character. 
> 
> Any and all comments/kudos/bookmarks will be greatly appreciated. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	23. The Devil's In the Tic-Tac Part 5

     **The rest** of his day went swimmingly. If swimmingly was a synonym for crap, that is. 

      Lunch was full of snickers. Jeremy found himself looking around for Page, something that he thought was somewhat strange, and his search was rewarded with a pair of brown eyes and a slightly gaunt face whose lips curled up when he made eye contact. Her smile was friendly - welcoming. Jeremy, for a brief second, wondered if she ever did that when she was friends with Duke. Smiled at her with a face that said,  _Nice to see you! How're you doing?_   He saw that she sat at the end of her table - alone. Every other occupant of it was at the other end, and giving her not-so-discreet sidelong glances. Jeremy smiled back at Page and gave the girls at the end of her table the stink eye. 

      He got his food, only seeing the sloppy part of the sloppy joes being 'served' that day. He marched over to Page's table, back straight, posture perfect. He didn't realize that, however. He only wanted to give the finger to the girls at the end of Page's table, because her smile was so friendly and they looked at her like she was a freak.

      Jeremy, as he sat down, was struck with the image of Page and Duke sitting across from each other, laughing like besties. Then he could see Chandler offering Duke a spot in her clique. That was followed with Duke walking past Page, sneering at her. For a moment he was very, very angry. Then he was hit with a thought that sent his emotions for a whirl. A very self-loathing, but true whirl. 

      Page saw his expression. "Don't mind them. They're always like that." She shot him a sly grin. "Besides, your eyes aren't a pretty when they're upset."

      Jeremy started, disturbing the sanctity of his sloppy joe. He quickly shook his head. "Oh. Um, o-okay. T-thanks!" Jeremy's hand was making a beeline for the back of his neck in seconds, surprising a corner of him. Page frowned.

      "You're welcome," she said, cocking her head to the side. For a moment she was quiet. "Are you okay? You're shaking."

       Jeremy blinked. He quickly stiffened, laughing awkwardly. "Sorry. That hasn't happened in a while. Not since... uh, a while." 

Page poked at her sloppy joe, twining a stringy piece of meat drenched in formerly frozen marinara. She let it fall off the prongs of her fork with a mildly disgusted shiver. "My ears are open if you need to talk about something, y'know."

      Her voice was quieter when she told him that. Softer. It had a hint of worry to it. How long had it been since Jeremy had heard that?

Jeremy took in a breath. "S-sorry. I just... I'm remembering the last time this happened. I-it's nothing." 

      Page raised a brow. "You got kicked in the face by a popular girl  _before?_ _"_

      "Oh! No. I-I mean like, um... well... it's been a while since a girl like, talked to me like you do." Page's expression was level. Jeremy quickly added, "I mean like, was nice to me and stuff."

      Page's features softened. She reached across the table, and Jeremy returned the gaze of a girl from the other end of the table. He gave her a flat look before Page took his hand. His fork fell into the mess of his sloppy joe. He found that he didn't mind much as her fingers intertwined with his. She was smiling at him. "Then I say she's missing out."

      Jeremy was red to his ears, but for once it wasn't from just being nervous. He responded quietly, "Thanks."

      "No problem." Page smiled for another moment. "So... did you understand like, anything Mr. Fedralson was saying during class?"

      Jeremy shrugged. "I guess. I mean, it'll probably take me forever to do the homework tonight anyway, but I think I got the gist. Hopefully." 

      "Lucky," Page groaned. She looked at him hopefully. "You wouldn't mind helping me, would you?"

      The teen across from her nodded, his lips curved upward in a small smile. "Sure. Its not like I have a life anyways." Jeremy laughed. Page giggled. Then she coughed, and her face grew more serious.

      Her voice lowered to a whisper as she leaned forward. "Now um, I heard that Duke gave you some shit before first period." Jeremy's heartbeat quickened a good bit. "I know this is really random, but she didn't say anything about me, did she?"

      Jeremy directed his eyes to his sloppy joe. Page's eyes were expectant. He felt sweat beginning to trickle down his forehead when he finally opened his mouth. He answered her like he was revealing his internet history. "She did." 

      Page balked. She told him quickly, "Whatever she said was bull."  

      Jeremy nodded to her. Page leaned away and took an interest with her sloppy joe. After several moments where he had no idea what to do, Jeremy swallowed and said, "I - I heard you used to be friends with Duke before she joined Chandler. I - err, well - do you want to talk about it?" 

      Page's eyes searched his face coolly. Then she brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. When she spoke, her voice was bitter. "We used to be friends, yeah. Then Chandler came along and convinced her to abandon me." She sighed heavily. "One day I called her out on it. No-one did shit to help me, but I think I got to her. I know she always gave guys I liked crap, though." 

      Jeremy was staring at her. "Jesus Christ..." he looked down. "That's... wow. I'm sorry." 

      "You - you don't believe her, right?" Page asked, and the note of desperation Jeremy caught made his heart crack. His eyes hardened as met her gaze. 

      "Of course I don't. Duke's the second biggest dick in this school. Why would I?" 

      Page was beaming. She grabbed one of his hand in two of hers, and squeezed. "Oh, thank you so much! You-"

      The cafeteria door opened with a bang. Page fell silent, and her hands disappeared under the table. Jeremy turned at the sound, frowning, and managed to catch Duke's eye because of course she would be standing exactly where he was looking. He promptly turned back to Page. "Ignore them. Just ignore them." he said, just as much to her as to himself. 

      Duke's crowing laughter rang in his ears. Page had stiffened in her seat, like her seat was made of nails. Duke waited for Chandler to give her a small nod before sauntering over. Students began to hush, and Chandler sat down at her table with a glint of vindictive amusement in her grin. She folded her hands to support her chin and leaned forward to watch. 

      Duke snorted before calling out, "Ooh, look everyone! We have a new couple!" Jeremy was pointedly ignoring her, nervously eyeing the girl across from him. "The local whore and the new guy!"

     Jeremy glared into his food. Maybe he'd discover he had laser eyes and burn a hole through it. That'd create a distraction at least. Then he felt a hand grab his shoulder. The grip was light enough so that he almost felt like he could get out, but strong enough that Jeremy had doubts. Jeremy knew it wouldn't end well, but as he felt his body being turned around, he resisted. In the end, he still had to look at Duke's perfect mug. 

     Her teeth were so white that Jeremy was half-tempted to call her mouth out for white-washing. Duke dug her nails into his cardigan like claws, somehow getting down to his shoulder. She had no right to, but she did. 

     Duke grinned down at him, greedily savoring the anger on his face. She laughed. "What, you don't like the truth?"

     Jeremy wanted to snap back a her. He wanted to jump up and give a righteous rant. But he wasn't able to find the words.

     All he could see as Duke literally looked down at him was himself. Himself if he had an even tinier waist and a horrible personality, but himself. Like he was seeing his reflection through fun house mirror, but himself. He and Duke... they'd done the same things. They both abandoned their only friend to hang with the popular kids. They both proceeded to treat that friend like crap when they got called on it. He was nowhere near Duke's level of bitch, but it was strange to think that they were similar. Uncomfortable.

     Duke crouched down so she was at his eyelevel. She leaned in close, so her nose could cause his still-healing one grief. "I wasn't kidding when I said she was bad news, Heere. She's tried to fuck tons of guys before you, kid. Popular ones, too. The thing is, all of them could spot a hanger-on when they see one. What makes you think you're any different?" 

     Jeremy was quiet. Duke smirked victoriously, and she straightened back to her usual height. She strode away, grinning to herself, and as not long after she sat at her table down, Chandler burst out laughing. She shot Jeremy an amused, falsely pitying look across the lunchroom. Jeremy quickly spun around to face Page.

     He opened his mouth, but found that he didn't know what to say. At least, the lunchroom didn't feel like the place to talk about what he'd just been told.

     Jeremy knew that it easily could've been a lie. If anything, it probably was. Page didn't look like the promiscuous type; she never struck Jeremy as a particularly bad person (Not that he considered himself a moral authority of any kind). Duke was probably just making it up to get at him. Nothing like messing with him, right? His eyes darkened slightly, but he nodded to himself. Yeah. This was just one big set-up to throw him off. Chandler probably thought she'd already won, so it struck the teen as very likely that she'd want to use Duke to mess with him more. Because his pain was funny to her.

     "You were right," he said, "Duke was lying."

     It took a while for Page to drag her eyes back up to his. "What'd she say?"

     "A bunch of bullshit," Jeremy answered. "It doesn't matter. I don't believe her and rumors are dumb."

     A hesitant smile tugged at the edges of Page's mouth. "Really?"

     Jeremy reached across the table and, after fighting back his hesitation, grasped her hand. He squeezed it tightly. He was dimly aware of how dopey he must've looked, but he shrugged it off as best he could. He told her quietly, "Yes." 

     "That's um..." Page began with flushing cheeks, "Err - thanks. That... that means a lot."

 

* * *

 

     When Jeremy was sitting in eighth period, stuck again with the same group of partners as last the last time around, he was vaguely paying attention when the girl said something that made him stiffen. 

     "So you're going out with Duke's old friend now?" she asked, and Jeremy frowned at her. Her face was curious, and looked almost skeptical. Jeremy straightened his back. 

     "Uh... yeah?" he said, "I mean, it's not like we've gone out or anything..." Jeremy focused on his suspicion of the girl's tone, hoping he could stop himself from blushing as hard. Even when he'd been with Christine, he was very bashful about romantic things. He wouldn't not do them, of course, but they were part of the long list of things that'd make him go red. 

     "What did Duke tell you about her?" one of the guys shifted a bit, but the girl didn't seem to notice. Jeremy did though. The guy was good-looking, he'd give him that. He appeared very disconcerted though. 

     Jeremy tore his eyes away from him when the girl coughed impatiently. "Oh! Well, um... she..." Jeremy trailed off as he continued to meet the girl's gaze. Soon, he was narrowing his eyes. "Why do you care?"

     The girl rolled her eyes. "So she's got you with her whole 'Nice girl' act too?" 

     Jeremy blinked.

_You know she's not that innocent! That whole wounded puppy routine? That's how she gets all the guys. Acts all helpless so they wanna protect her... not that I care._

He shook his head. "W-what do you mean?"

     The girl flicked her eyes over to the handsome guy, who had just asked to go to the bathroom. "She tried that on Mason last year. Got him wrapped really far around her finger, too, before he realized she just wanted his popularity." after a moment, she added, "It hurt him bad. Took him weeks to finally figure it out and when he did... she didn't let go easily." 

     Jeremy bit his lip. He pushed down the memories that threatened to surface, but her face still swam in the back of his eyes. It was totally unrelated, he knew, and it was stupid, yeah, but he still shivered. "Um..."

     "Don't worry dude," the girl's other friend told him. "she's really good at what she does." 

     Their faces showed sympathy. Actual, honest-to-goodness support. Jeremy looked at the floor.

     He'd've been surprised if Duke was trustworthy, but she had known Page for years. And now other people were saying the same thing? That... no. It didn't make sense. Duke was a bitch. One of the bitchiest bitches to bitch. She abandoned her only friend for Chandler. When she got called on it, she only treated that friend worse. He couldn't trust her. He knew he couldn't. 

      But...

     The bell rang, cutting into his thoughts. He shot up, nervously thanking the girl and her friend, though he wasn't sure why, and left the classroom as fast as he could. 

     His emotions were tumultuous, to say the least. When he finally reached his locker, and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. He didn't think the universe hated him, though. No.

     He was convinced it despised him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone who saw this story go from 23 chapters back to 22. I accidentally posted this chapter while writing it. I'm sure it must've been confusing. Though I'm honestly surprised something like this hasn't happened before now. 
> 
> But anyways, yeah... its been a year since I started this. A lot has happened since then. I know that time is always marching forward and I'm very young, so lines like that are a bit silly, but it's strange to know that I've been working on this for so long. Kinda nice, but strange.
> 
> Things aren't going well for Jeremy, are they? I hope my use of musical dialogue didn't come off as too heavy-handed, because I know that at least for me, words or phrases can and will make my brain remember things I'd filed away. I didn't get complaints when I used it before, but if there's anything I'm paranoid about it's making characters act OOC. 
> 
> But enough about my fretting! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if I can get myself to stop replaying Fallout: New Vegas there just might be another one out before school starts back up for me. In any case, I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter. Additionally, if you've been here from the very beginning - what do you think? Feel free to let me know! 
> 
> 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	24. The Devil's In the Tic-Tac Part 6

      **Jeremy didn't** know what to think.

     Or, more accurately, he didn't know what to think of the thoughts he did have.

     Troubled. That's how his dad had described him directly after he shut his SQUIP off: troubled. As he shut his locker, Jeremy wondered how long it'd be until his father described him that way. Maybe he had been behind his back this entire time and he was stupid for having the thought just occur to him now. That... that was probably it. Jeremy shut his locker with a long sigh. 

     His journey to the bus was difficult. First was the way he was looked at: fleeting glances, the occasional dismissive eyeroll, and (This was something Jeremy most definitely didn't want) pitying gazes that grated on him the entire way. He should've been used to that by now. Heck, he should've been used to it months ago back at Middleborough. He knew that. But he still felt it every time. Each set of eyes was a constant reminder of the mess he called his social life. A silent one, too. One that couldn't be stopped, either.

     Second was the way Page's supposed ex gazed at him. Jeremy was about halfway to freedom when he met the guy's pretty eyes, which made him stop for a moment. They held a concoction of sympathy and urgency that struck Jeremy as odd. Added in were traces of pity, as well, and a flicker of anger that Jeremy wasn't quite sure he saw. He quickly broke eye contact, and put his gaze at the sweet spot he'd found where you could avoid looking a faces but still keep track of where you were going. Being stuck with staring at people's shoulders wasn't much better, but it was a bit better than the alternatives. 

     Third was when, even though he hadn't so much was spared a second of attention to him, Kurt jeered, "Hey! Don't be so hard on yourself Heere, okay?" 

     His friends burst into loud, obnoxious, arrogant laughter. 

     "You think he needs some positive self-talk?" one asked between guffaws. 

     Another snorted, responding, "Nah, man. he needs to go to the counselor!"

     Some of the other kids in the hall chuckled at that line. Jeremy's hurt was quickly shoved down by his bile, and he clenched his fists fast. He pondered whether they'd be quiet if their jaws weren't working. Knowing them, they'd probably be dumb enough to try to be clever anyways. Jeremy lowered his head down to his feet as he passed them, indignation roiling inside him. 

     "Aww, leaving so soon Heere?" Kurt smirked behind him, "What - did we hurt your feewings?"

     Jeremy strode farther. Harder. When an underclassmen bumped into him, he brushed past the boy brusquely, not really paying attention to his splutters. When he glanced back, he noticed it was the boy who hit him with paint from art. A small pang of guilt hit him, quickly dismissed as he schooled his face. 

     He hadn't been ever been nervous to board the bus before. He'd dreaded it at times, even been intensely wary (He refused to trust seats that glistened anymore), but never nervous. But ah, now not so much.

     Jeremy had questions he wanted answers to. Significant, teen drama-y questions. But what if he did something wrong? What would he do  _when_ he did something wrong? Apologize? He didn't like feeling like he was overdramatic, nor the expressions on people's faces when was. He'd only heard bad things about Page from two people, yes. One of which (If what he'd heard was the truth) would most definitely have an axe to grind against her, not to mention that she was tormenting him in the first place. Maybe that girl and her friends had been set up by Duke or something. That would be fairly reasonable. The only problem was how real it all seemed from them. Unless he was talking to high school scam artists, he was having a hard time rationalizing how they would've faked it so well. 

     He had questions as to why Page's supposed ex left in the middle of the conversation, but the emotion on his face had been seemed so real his questions just hung unanswered in his mind, with the two answers he did have not sitting well with him. If he'd been faking it, he'd nearly fooled Jeremy. That only fed his exasperation with the school he was stuck in. If it wasn't faked...

     Jeremy shook his head firmly, and took one last deep breath in as he got on the bus. Okay, he thought. This is going to be fine. This is going to be fine. Fine-ish. Hopefully. Maybe.

     He spotted Page in the back, where he usually sat. She'd taken the window seat, and moodily thrummed her fingers against the glass. She scowled out the window with a dark annoyance in her eyes. When she noticed Jeremy, her face instantly brightened. Her smile was relieved. It said,  _Thank god, someone decent. Thank you._

     Something in Jeremy squirmed. He had a bad feeling that that smile wouldn't be there for long. 

     Page frowned as he sat down next to her. "What's up?"

     Jeremy studied the olive green of the seat in front of him. He noticed the small tears in the leather, and the holes that he seriously questioned the origin of. Mainly because he wanted to know. 

     A soft hand touched his shoulder. Jeremy stiffened as Page turned him toward her. Her frown was complimented with pointedly raised eyebrows. "Did Duke try something again?"

     Possibly, but I'm not sure if they were telling the truth. That's how Jeremy wanted to respond. In reality, he stuttered, "Err, uh..." 

     "Jeremy."

     "I don't know," Jeremy sighed, hanging his head, "Some kids in eighth period said you uh, had an ex, I guess. I-I don't know. I'm not sure. Sorry, I'm just being stupid-"

     Page's look hardened. "I have a lot of ex's. What was his name?"

     Jeremy answered quietly, "Don't know."

     "Then Chandler or someone else probably set 'em up." Page squeezed his shoulder, but Jeremy didn't detect much affection in it. "You already know she has it out for you."

     "I guess," Jeremy responded, head still hung. His eyes flicked over to the people who sat across from him. He saw that their eyes occasionally flicked over to him and Page, and when he met them for the barest moment, they immediately went elsewhere. 

     Great. Now he was in a reality show. 

     Page's hand cupped his chin. Her features had softened. She was smiling again. "Don't listen to them, okay? I... I really like you. You... you just seem different from everyone else here. No-one's tried the kinda shit you've pulled with Chandler in years." 

     Then she kissed him. 

     Her lips were cold. Her hands were cold. Jeremy was stunned. 

    It lasted only five seconds or so. Six. Seven, maybe. Jeremy didn't know anything except that when she leaned away he had no words. He was gawking at her.

 

* * *

 

     When Jeremy came home he was smiling like he'd just won the lottery. For once, he had a spring in his step. He swaggered into his house with an intoxicated grin and went to his room, leaving his father with his eyebrows hovering, a knowing expression on his face. When Jeremy sat down at his bed, he sighed dreamily. He briefly entertained the idea of calling Michael, but he found it much better to lie back down on his mattress and stare at the ceiling, wondering what he'd done to deserve how lucky he'd just been. 

     Heh. Right. Jeremy half-wished he could be that happy.

     Now here's what really happened. 

     The rest of the bus ride was awkward. Page's smile quickly faded, but her hands stayed where they were. The temperature difference between them and Jeremy's skin was becoming less and less welcome, if only for the fact that for a good bit of him, it  _was_ so welcome. 

     "Jeremy?" Page asked, "Are you okay?" 

     Jeremy knew he should've responded with a kiss of his own. Or something. Jeremy didn't know how to feel - his logical and emotional parts were going to war, even as Page moved out of his personal space. Her expression was hard to read. She frowned before turning away from him, and while some part of him wanted to say something, it was shut up by everything else in his head. 

     Jeremy took an interest in his lap. The small, faded stains that peppered his pants didn't help, either: all they did was cause old, rose-tinted memories to bubble up. Memories that stung now. 

     He could've avoided all of this if he'd done the sensible thing and ignored Rich. Then, maybe, he wouldn't've had the guts to mess with Chandler. Or even if that was guaranteed to happen anyways, he would've gotten a few more months where he could hang out with his best friend for a bit longer. Jeremy scowled. 

     He needed time to process. He needed time to sit down and not be besieged by mean girls or rumors or supercomputers. 

     He wasn't getting that though, was he?

     Jeremy and Page spent the rest of the ride in palpable silence. When the bus lurched to his stop, Jeremy got up awkwardly, Page shooting him a confused sidelong glance. There was probably hurt in there, Jeremy was pretty sure, but in all likelihood he managed to miss it. 

     He trudged off the bus, glaring at the floor. Kids' eyes ventured over to him, but always went to anywhere else when Jeremy met them. He snorted.

     He was being stupid. Duke just had it out for Page; that ex was a fake. Nobody in this school really liked him. Nobody really cared. They would've done something by now if they really did - and they weren't. The only person who'd actually reached out to him was Page, and he was doubting her. 

     Jeremy ran an exasperated hand down his face, taking a slow, deep breath in. He breathed out through his nose. As he began his walk home, he straightened his back. His footfalls became firmer. Harder. His face screwed up in determination. 

     Duke was lying, he decided angrily. It was all bull. It had to be.

 

 

* * *

 

     Jeremy's night was filled with homework. It was a good ten miles away from fun, not to mention that he couldn't make up his mind about Page. After making enough stupid math errors to fail an exam twice over, Jeremy shifted his so-called attention to the chapter Mr. Krikor had assigned for the night, and found the stuffy, clearly phoned-in writing style even more of a pain than usual. Jeremy's biggest question in the end was how many times someone could break up their sentences with commas. The answer, if his textbook was to be trusted, was somewhere between ten and fifteen.

     By the time he'd finished everything on his plate, he still didn't have a consensus. The result of which was that when he tried to fall asleep, he felt like he had a headache. Water hadn't helped. Neither had trying to distract himself; video games, youtube, porn... nothing. Zip. His mind kept gravitating toward its drama, one part shouting answers, another imploring that he should wait. Father more evidence. Actually think this through. Not charge in and make a choice he'd horribly regret later.

     Jeremy found himself staring at the ceiling at midnight, the moonlight streaming silently through his window, casting a long, slim shadow across the wall. He wanted to talk to Michael or Christine, despite his mixed feelings about them. They might know what to do. Even if they didn't, having someone to talk to besides his dad would be great. 

     He had JD, he guessed. JD might have something to say. The fact that he'd brought a gun to school for some goddamn reason, though, dashed that idea fast. 

     When he finally got shuteye, Jeremy had no way of telling. If his hazy memory was correct, it was sometime after one AM. In any case, he wanted more sleep when he woke up. 

     Jeremy peeled his covers off himself painedly. He put exactly zero effort into his clothes that day, and would've used ctrl-c-crtl-z if that was something he could've done. It'd save him time, at least. Though maybe he wouldn't've. A distraction was worth its weight in gold to him in that moment. It wasn't like picking through his 'wardrobe' was something he liked, so it probably didn't matter. 

     The boy ran a hand down his face, sighing. Was he really contemplating that of all things? Ugh. 

     His shower was speedy. He didn't want to stay long when the water switched from hot to freezing, anyways. His eye bags were deepening, he noted as he looked at himself in the mirror. His bruises were purpling fast, which, combined with his nose, made him look like he'd murdered Grimace and broken his nose in the process. Jeremy smoothed his hair as much as he could, but strands were still sticking up. He wished he had a hair brush. Or a pair of scissors. Perhaps going bald wouldn't be so bad. He wasn't exactly handsome as it stood to begin with. 

     Why did Page even like him then?

     Jeremy muttered under his breath, and found his soggy cheerios even more depressing than usual. He swirled them around lamely, making a mini whirlpool of milk and circular starch. Images of Page and Duke hazily appeared in his mind; he could easily see how it all fell apart. He hung his head with a scowl, forcing himself to blink the images away. 

     "You okay?" his dad asked. Jeremy jumped in his seat, accidentally getting milk on his sleeve. 

     He wondered vaguely if getting smitten by god wouldn't be so bad after all. "I'm fine."

     His dad's eyebrows rose pointedly. "Those girls still aren't giving you trouble, are they?" 

     "No," Jeremy said with a sigh, "It's just... I-it's nothing. I'm being stupid." 

      His father's lips curved downward skeptically. "Are you now?" 

     Jeremy glared at him. " _Yes._ I am."

     He stood up and slid his key out of his pocket. Jeremy marched out without another word, finding that the sky had taken gray to be in vogue once again. He rolled his eyes, decidedly unamused, and became even less of a fan of nature that day when a leaf hit him in the face as he was walking. He wasn't really surprised by that, if he was totally honest. 

     When Page sat down next to him, she surveyed him coolly. She sighed after a moment. "Please don't tell me you bought Duke's shit," 

     Jeremy didn't answer her. He wanted to do so but he didn't. Even when she tried to grab his shoulder and force the confrontation, he found himself resisting. 

     He narrowed his eyes testily. "Can you just leave me alone?" 

     Page blinked. She seemed at a loss for a few seconds, during which guilt sprouted in Jeremy's chest. She turned away from him slowly. "Sorry."

     Idiot, Jeremy thought. You idiot. You just hurt her!

     He wanted to say more. He wanted to do so but he didn't. 

     The silence between them was pained for the rest of the ride. When the bus stopped in front of Westerberg, that silence continued its reign, making more self-loathing claw at Jeremy - a fact not helped by how Page got up and left without a word to him. He watched her go, wincing as if he'd been slapped. It felt like he'd just slapped himself, that was for sure.

     Duke grinned like a Cheshire cat when she saw him. Her cronies made way for her, which they really shouldn't've had to do, but it was whatever to her. She caught Jeremy by the arm and spun him to face her. Jeremy tried valiantly to get out of her grip, but she stomped on his foot. Jeremy yelped. Duke laughed, and her goons copied her. One kid in the background snorted, which only deepened Jeremy's less than pleased expression.

     "Why the sulking Heere? Sad that you can't get a real girlfriend?" Duke's teeth glinted in the flat light of the hall. She scrutinized his face intently, before bursting out laughing. "Y'know, if you didn't look like a beat-up vampire, you might not look to bad, considering..." Jeremy wanted to hit her so bad it burned. "...though then again, you'd have to fix the rest of you first..." 

     "Do you ever shut up?" Jeremy snapped. Duke took on a face of indignation. 

     "Well! I'm just trying to help you! Mac told me how hard you are on yourself..."

     The emotion in Duke's eyes could've been mistaken for sympathy. Jeremy knew better, though. He snorted, and spat at her feet.

     "Ew!" Duke cried, mercifully letting him go. Jeremy got disgusted looks from her cronies. He turned away quickly, and sped into Mr. Krikor's class, only a second before the line outside it got moving. There were a few "Hey!"s from the other students, but Jeremy put forth his utmost effort to not care overmuch. The other kids got into their seats, and Mr. Krikor started his lecture. Facts came a mile a minute, and Jeremy kept up. Barely. In the middle of the maelstrom, He felt a tap on his shoulder. He slowly turned to the source, one of the two chatterboxes that had given him the oh-so fun information about Page. 

     "Hey," one of the girls whispered, eyes darting around the room furtively, "Is it true? Did Duke's friend kiss you yesterday?"

     Jeremy's blood ran cold as he stiffened. He checked behind him, seeing that Mr. Krikor was fixing a problem with his PowerPoint slides. He turned back to the girls with a squared jaw and pinked cheeks. "Maybe. W-why are you asking?"

     The girls glanced at each other in surprise. "You - you know her reputation right?" 

     Jeremy narrowed his eyes, though his blush had spread to his nose. "Yeah."

     The chatterboxes stared at him bewilderedly. The one on Jeremy's right spoke up first. "Then - then you're alright with her using you?"

     "She's not using me." 

     The girls exchanged glances. The one on Jeremy's left slowly nodded. "Okay. Whatever you say."

     They went back to note taking and Jeremy struggled to do the same. 

     It was bull. It had to be. 

      _Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaddya know!
> 
> I'm not gonna promise any time frame for the next chapter, but I hope it won't take me too long. Then again, I was pretty sure I wouldn't finish this in time so who knows! 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter. I'm not sure if I portrayed Jeremy's conflict well, so I'd love to know what you think of it.
> 
> 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	25. The Devil's In the Tic-Tac Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Evil Laughter*

     **To say** that Jeremy was distracted for the rest of the period would've been an understatement. 

     He wasn't just distracted - that he could deal with by being hard on himself - no. The new tidbit he knew (Or supposedly knew, part of him piped up rebelliously)  had been just what he needed to make him feel even shittier. 

     Now in his noggin was the testimonies of five people saying that Page was using him, a fact that sent his pro-Page faction stumbling a step. It couldn't really be five, it said. We don't even know the name of that ex! 

     The only problem was that it all seemed too real. And even if those three kids were wrapped around Chandler's talon, the two girls behind him gossiping about Heather Duke's ex best friend who she seemed to hate in the same room as her probably weren't friends with her. If they were "Friends" with her, and they were supposed to tell him Page was bad news, that meant Duke was pulling some pretty Machiavellian crap right under his nose, which seemed unlikely to Jeremy. Duke seemed the type to spend more time on her pedicure than thinking about people, at least to him. And if it had taken Chandler so long to get him beat up, brains probably weren't in large supply in her social circles.  

     What ifs of every vein from the ridiculous to the terrifyingly reasonable swirled around his head until the bell. Maybe, the pro-Page section of him argued, they all were set up. Everyone has strokes of brilliance once in a while, after all. Sure, the anti-Page half retorted, and Duke is secretly tragic and isn't really an uber shallow jerk. Come on. 

     Jeremy was rubbing his temples when the bell rang. Mr. Krikor gave out that night's reading, rising Jeremy's spirits like a lead weight. More stuffy, flowery language that night. Yippee. He put away his stuff with his mouth a thin, pursed line. He glanced back as he left class, and briefly meet the pitying one of the chatterboxes. He narrowed his eyes and turned away, marching until he was out of the class, when he heard peals of laughter just behind him. He kept walking. 

     "Aww," Duke crooned, "Are you mad 'cause you can't have a real girlfriend, Heere?" 

     Jeremy rolled his eyes, squaring his jaw. He had to suck in a deep breath before he could continue his stressed stride. As was par for the course, though, that was all the time needed for Duke to get up in his personal space. Seriously, was she Danny Phantom or something? Jeremy directed his eyes firmly to the ground, and as the blood rushed to his face, he just stood there. He didn't see any way to escape her. 

     "You won't even look at me," Duke said, and Jeremy didn't need to be looking at her offensively perfect mug to know she was fake-pouting. "Are you blaming yourself for it? Heather McNamara told me how hard you are on yourself..."

     "My only problem," Jeremy spat, hands trembling, "Is you."

     "Now!" Duke gasped, "I'm just trying to help!"

     Jeremy spun around to face her, red in the face, unsure on whether his heart was hammering from nervousness or anger. "You'd help by shutting up."

     Duke's hand went to her heart. Her pained expression was so convincing, Jeremy nearly believed it. "Well I'll say!" she gestured around her with her free hand. "I guess your boyfriend rubbed off on you more than I thought. See, people? _This_ is why you stay away from emos! Look at what's happening to him!" 

     Her theatrics reminded Jeremy of how he'd been when the SQUIP made him cry for the first time. They were so eye catching, his inner vapid couldn't not be slightly impressed.

     For a second, one glorious second, Jeremy had the idea that the hallway would be silent. The look on Duke's face would've made his day. Of course, though, it didn't take long for students to start murmuring agreement and bobbing their heads up and down like they were getting apples from a water barrel. 

      _Oh my god..._

Jeremy turned around and began to pace down the hall. 

     "See?"

     Jeremy groaned as he turned the corner, and Duke's noxious laughs hounded him as he did.

     He half-hoped that the state of Ohio would just sink into the ocean, right with Atlantis. It was roomy down there. Free real estate. Maybe he could find a nice, red coral reef and hide there for the rest of his life. Nobody would be able to see him after all. 

     When the joined the line outside Mr. Fedralson's class, he sighed heavily, thanking god that he didn't get any more attention than he normally did along the way.

     Seeing Page made a lump form in his throat, and as Mr. Fedralson began talking, a small voice asked exactly how much longer he could take this. 

 

* * *

 

     The next few days were blurry for him. Everything came in a familiar pattern: 

     Sleep. Wake up. Be awkward around Page. Get crap from the Heathers. Go home. Struggle with homework. Maybe eat something. Sleep.

     Sniffle and repeat. 

     So when he got up on Friday, Jeremy didn't bother trying with anything. He'd spent at least two hours half-studying for Mr. Krikor's test the previous night, and he felt about as willing to get up as snail was to season their food with salt. And like the snail, he was slow as heck. 

     The wind outside was intense, the sky an intimidatingly blah gray, and the leave were either waving brown and orange blurs or flying orange and brown blurs. Jeremy picked out his gray hoodie, and the vague question of whether he should bother trying tame his hair crossed his headspace. When he got a look at himself after he'd showered and dressed, and the boring contrast provided by the brown of his khakis and hair and hoodie, he shrugged lamely and lowered his eyes (Which stuck out like sore thumbs, part of him added helpfully). he ate his cereal without bravado, and left with equal energy. 

     Like he'd expected, a few leaves took potshots at him. One even managed to poke his eye, making him let out a loud "Ow!" and nearly trip over his own feet. he stomped on the leaf before letting it continue to be carried by the wind, hopefully into the face of someone who deserved it next time. Chandler, maybe. Have it be moldy and disgusting, so it'd go with her outfit. That thought made Jeremy let out a sardonic something which stopped him in his tracks. 

     For a second, he stood there, wondering what exactly that had been. After another second, though, he wrenched himself back to the present and picked up the pace, a sect of him helpfully pointing out that his revenge fantasies could wait with disappointed lilt to it. Jeremy lowered his eyes, swearing when he almost tripped on an uneven bit of sidewalk. He barely stopped himself from eating concrete, and a darkly exasperated glint took over his eyes. 

     When the bus came, he was crossing and uncrossing his arms, tapping his feet only to stop abruptly a second later. Jeremy was torn between how right those actions felt to do, but stymied by how he knew they made him appear. One of the things he was completely sure of at that moment was that he could not, under any circumstances, pull off the 'bad-boy' look. He'd probably look like a penguin in boots. Jeremy snorted at himself as the bus came rumbling down the street. Jeremy Heere, the waddling emo. 

     He boarded and leaned back against his seat (A single-seater across from two other kids, because he could actually deal with the emotions in their eyes without going into tomato mode), blinking, breathing loosely languid. The olive green, I-haven't-been-repaired-years seat in front of him provided a welcome safe spot to keep hos focus, whilst he split his remaining energy between prepping himself to deal with whatever the Heathers had planned for him, and his concerns over his upcoming test. 

     Page worriedly glanced at him as she got on the bus, her mouth a fretful arch. Jeremy sank deeper into his seat and turned his attention to the dying ferns out the window. 

     The bus lurched to a stop in front of Westerberg. Some kid hit his head and muttered unflatteringly about the bus driver, which made Jeremy snort. It was only once he was off the bus that he noticed that the kid was staring at him. When he did, Jeremy shot him raised eyebrows, but his expression quickly melted when he saw the  _Oh man, I'm so sorry_ look in the kid's eyes. Jeremy snapped his head elsewhere, only to have someone else give him an identical treatment. Jeremy gave the ground his focus after that.

     He heard Duke's stupid, infuriatingly perfect laugh behind him about halfway-ish to first period. Jeremy just sighed. He continued his stride, what little alacrity he had getting dashed unceremoniously. 

    Duke grinned at his back. "Hey, Heere! I have something for you!" 

     A vein in Jeremy's temple pulsed. His nails bit into his clammy palms, but he still turned to her. He was tired of being manhandled by someone a head and a half shorter than him. 

     Duke waved a blue spiral notebook in her right hand, maleficent glee doing jumping jacks in her eyes. The way the lights reflected off her spotless teeth hurt. Jeremy eyed the notebook cautiously. It didn't have anything wrong with it on the outside, but he knew enough about Duke that he wouldn't've been surprised if it was somehow full of killer bees that insulted his fashion sense while they stung him. 

     She handed it too him slowly, drawing out everything she did for maximum annoyance.  When Jeremy finally got to touch it, he yanked it out of her grip as hard as he could. Duke's eyes widened, and Jeremy internally swore. 

     "Maybe I shouldn't give this to you, Heere," she said quietly. Her eyes gave away how much she was enjoying herself. "Seeing as how you're already so upset." Duke bowed her head for a second, confusing him a bit, but when she made eye contact again her grin was somehow wider. Jeremy's stomach twisted up in a mix of audacious shock and offense. "You still aren't blaming yourself for your not-girlfriend, right?"

     "Fu-" Jeremy began, before closing his eyelids and letting out a long breath. Duke giggled. The fact that the pitch was music to his ears made another vein in Jeremy's head pop out. He spun on his heel, fully expecting to be forced to put up with her for longer, but Duke let him walk. 

     "Just read it, M'kay?" she called sweetly, and Jeremy was very seriously tempted to chuck the stupid spiral right at her. Maybe he could knock her teeth out of position make her get braces.  _That_ would be funny to see.

     Instead he stomped into Mr. Krikor's class, fuming, uncertain and most definitely not up for another test of his patience. He stuffed the notebook into his bag while getting his pencil, pointedly keeping his eyes on his desk. When the test was passed back, he fumbled when handing it behind him, and found that he'd somehow gotten a paper cut on his good hand. He groaned and started filling in bubbles like they'd insulted his grandmother.

 

* * *

 

     The test wasn't completely horrible, at least. Some questions made him nervous, but aside from those he was feeling sort of alright by the time he turned it in. He got back to his seat, and saw that, to his surprise, he'd finished his test early for once. He blinked when he realized that, peering around him with suspicion, before sinking into his seat.

     He didn't get silence of course. Quiet was way past its free trial for him. His head still debated with itself, but with that notebook Duke had given him thrown into the mix now. Jeremy had a half a mind to throw the thing in the trash, because there was no way Duke would've given him anything if it couldn't cause him grief. The other half, though, was curious. Duke had explained exactly nothing as to what was in the notebook or why the glorified collection of loose-leaf mattered, and if she had taken the time to come up with something to cause him trouble, there had to something in there worth seeing, right? 

     None of this was helped when Duke smirked at him from across the room, silently daring him to reach into his bag and open the notebook. Jeremy firmly turned his head toward the window, as if the gray skies and dreary plants outside could possibly distract him. He spent the rest of the period thrumming his fingers against his cheek, tapping his foot nervously, a light dusting of color on his face. 

     When the bell finally did ring, picking up his bag felt a bit harder than it should've been. He knew where he'd stuffed the thing, a fact that made it feel about ten pounds heavier than it had any right to be. Seeing Page in math class, as it was wont to do in recent days, made his stomach curl in on itself. Mr. Fedralson's lesson was monotonous and dull, so Jeremy's attempts to force his attention to it only resulted in the information going in one ear and slipping right out the other. It was in a strange state of half-dazedness that he made his way to third period.

     Third period was as dull as math had been, and fourth period required focus Jeremy couldn't muster up. When he accidentally colored his pear orange, he slumped his shoulders and sighed heavily, rubbing his temples, only to see that that hand had gray paint on it. Rolling his eyes, he washed his digits, boring into the faucet as if its rusted spout had caused all of his.

     Lunch was an awkward affair where he sat with the geeks, directing far too much attention to his incredibly sad hamburger. At the very least, the hamburger couldn't laugh at him. By the way it appeared to him, though, he wouldn't be surprised if one day his food let out a haughty, mocking moo.

     The rest of his day was tiring. The three hours separating him from the weekend were Geneva Convention violations as far as Jeremy was concerned. In the middle of sixth period, whilst the teacher droned on about something obscenely boring, his phone vibrated in his pocket. There was a grand total of three people who'd ever text him, and only two of them he could talk to without (Much) awkwardness. Jeremy stiffened, looked around him, then his hand dove into his pocket and took out his phone.

      He'd barely turned it on when he heard the teacher cough. "Jake," 

      Jeremy blinked, then balked. The teacher's smile was forced as if someone had taken a bush full of nightshades, liquified them, and injected that right into their cheek. "My name's Jeremy."

     "Well, Jeremy," the teacher responded, painfully drawing out his name, "I'd like it if you'd leave your phone with me for the period. So you aren't distracted."

     Jeremy could feel the apathetic gazes of his peers on him, and color climbed up to his nose as he trudged up to the teacher's desk and placed his phone on it. The teacher's smile was just as sickly. "Thank you."

     Jeremy didn't say anything in response. He sat back down, desperate to salvage as much dignity as he could - and fully aware he was failing spectacularly. He paid only a cursory amount of attention to the rest of the lecture, his curiosity over what he'd just been texted eating away a large chunk of his already hampered focus. 

     When at last he the drill ring of the bell freed him, he got his phone as quickly as he could, taking it from their desk before they even got there just to spite them. He opened it and saw the text from Michael, which made his chest twist up painfully:

      _Can't find any. Sorry. I'll keep looking. Hope you're okay._

Jeremy stiffened like someone had dumped ice cubes down his back. For a moment, he simply gawked at the opposite wall, unable to find his voice. His throat felt suddenly very, very dry. 

     Then a kid shoved him aside in the doorway, squeezing past him moodily. Brought out of his shock somewhat, it took Jeremy another thirty seconds to shake his head and force himself to start walking. 

     Seventh and eighth period were blurs to him. Nothing really happened in either, so he was left to stew and think  _shit_ over and over again. He left eighth period speedily, just cognizant enough to feel Page's ex studying him out of the corner of his eye. He collected his things with the temperament of a person told that there was a bomb strapped to their back. No-one could see it, or do anything without setting it off, so he was left to wait until it exploded in his face.

     He bumped and bumbled into a grand total of six people navigating the halls to his bus, all of gave him looks of recognition or derision. Jeremy gave what he got, feeling a bit guilty when he glared at a freshman who barely reached his midsection. The kid scampered off quickly thereafter, leaving him more than a bit hollow. He blamed it on his tenseness.

     Page sat next to him on the bus. The seat was only meant for one person, too, so he was pressed rigt up against the window. She tilted her head to the side after a second. "You okay?"

     No. That's what Jeremy wanted to say. He wished he could forget everything he'd been told about Page. Maybe he just wanted a hug. He didn't know. 

     "I heard that Duke gave you something today," she said lightly. "A blue notebook, right?"

     Jeremy turned his eyes to the window, only to make eye contact with the aforementioned jerk. She gave him a mocking smile and made an L with her fingers as she pranced over to her jeep, like she was innocent or something, drawing pairs of male eyes the entire way there. Jeremy looked at the ground. 

     "She did, then." 

     Jeremy said nothing. He felt numb and nervous all at the same time. The SQUIP couldn't be shut off. If he didn't do something  _right now_ - 

     Page snapped her fingers impatiently. "You know it's rude to ignore the person talking to you, right?" 

     Jeremy still said nothing. He had so much he wanted to say, yet not knowledge or confidence that he could say it. 

     Page huffed. "Just don't open it, okay?"

     Jeremy nodded numbly, half-forming the notion that she'd leave with her point made. Of course, she ended up staying right where she was the entire ride, not helping one bit. That made getting off at his stop difficult, and when the bus drove away, Jeremy was left standing there on the sidewalk, not alone. 

     Somehow, he dragged himself home. No response was given to his father, with his singular goal being to make it to his room. Then... at least he'd be alone. 

     As soon as his door shut, he realized he hadn't taken off his backpack like he normally did. He stood there for a second, making to turn around and put it as far away from his person as possible, but he couldn't. 

     Jeremy's eyes grew as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Go away."

      _Jeremy,_ the SQUIP said,  _you know I only want to improve your life._

"By ruining it?" he snapped, not caring about how weird he would've appeared. The SQUIP materialized in front of him with a flat look. 

     _You did that to yourself._

Jeremy clenched his fists. "Bull. You went crazy."

      _And you know that I only had because_ you  _were so incompetent._ somehow, the SQUIP's tone was even flatter then its perfect face.  _But, perhaps, I did go too far._

"No shit," Jeremy muttered. The SQUIP gestured to his backpack.

      _Open it._

"No."

      _You have to face the music sometime, Jeremy. Might as well do it when you'll have time to think about what to do._

The logic hurt. Hurt because it made so much sense. Jeremy shook his head. 

    "No."

     Then Jeremy was on the bus again. Page was sitting next to him. "That was really cool, you know, what you did at lunch."

     He narrowed his eyes. "Get me out of here. Now."

      _Jeremy,_ the SQUIP's voice had a lilt of sympathy in it.  _I wouldn't put you through unnecessary pain. Everything I do is for you._

"Then get me out of here."

      _Not until you understand, Jeremy._

"Understand what?"

      _Don't play dumb. You are fully aware of what I am referring to._

"It's all bull." Jeremy said automatically. The SQUIP raised an eyebrow, before rubbing its digital temples with its digital digits. 

      _From a point of view, yes, it is._ it said, before shaking its head in disappointment.  _Jeremy, she was never interested in you._

"She was!" Jeremy shouted. 

      _And which part of you is saying that?_ the SQUIP asked, pacing around him.  _The part that's really thinking about it or the part that's desperate for a girlfriend?_

"Shut up," Jeremy threw back weakly. 

     _I already informed you of the signs of a female being attracted you, Jeremy. She isn't meeting any of those. Her shoulders are too tense. The emotion is too convenient. Is not suspicious that this lines up exactly with a High School romcom?_

"Shut up."

      _Is it not suspicious that she only showed up after you showed yourself willing to stand up to Ms. Chandler? Jeremy, you aren't stupid._

"Shut. Up."

      _Open the notebook, Jeremy._

"No."

    After a moment where he stared the SQUIP down, completely red in the face, he felt himself shrugging his backpack off. Jeremy couldn't even fight it as he zipped it open and took out the blue, evil thing. He opened it of the SQUIP's accord, and wasn't able to keep his eyes closed.

_September 5th._

_Senior year. Yay._

_One more year and I'm out of this place. Joy._

_Brett broke up with me in June. I can't say I'm surprised, really. He was so uppity about talking to me. He was all "I'm your boyfriend and I like to talk to you" this and "A healthy relationship needs communication" that. Seriously, it's like he was auditioning to go on Oprah or some shit. Sometimes a girl needs alone time, okay? Not every relationship needs talking all the time. Or once a week. Either way, I'm over him. He wasn't that popular anyways. Maybe I'll luck out this year._

_September 9th._

_The weirdest thing happened at school today. Some new kid actually stood up to Chandler. He was blushing the entire time, too. He was really tall - like stupidly tall. That was pretty ballsy, though. The other kids in class seemed to really like it. He's not horrible to look at either. Not a model, but I can stand his face. Maybe this is my break after all._

_September 10th._

_I talked to the kid on the bus and Jesus Christ. He's more awkward than I am! He acted really weird, too. I was nice to him. If he actually survives, and he's popular enough, he might be worth the time. He said he wasn't alone for some reason. Another girl? Guy? I hope not, because I'm not losing out on one of my last chances to fuck with Heather's life. No way._

_September 16th_

_He's actually talking to me. Score one for the underdog. He's almost always blushing, so I'll take that as a good sign. If it isn't I'm sure he'll come to like me. He seems like a decent person. At the very least, he has a backbone, and seeing as how Chandler hasn't caught him yet, he might just have some working brain cells. Who knows? I just might find a catch. And if not, bragging about it will be a step above sucking the dicks of the football team. I can't wait to see her face._

_September 20th_

_God, school is so boring this year. A guy in chem cried yesterday. I think that's a new record for Westerberg. At least art isn't horrible. That kid, Jeremy, still seems uncomfortable around me though. Seriously, has he never talked to a girl before? Maybe he hasn't. With the way he dresses, I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't kissed anyone. Still, though, he isn't looking away from me all the time. That's a good sign._

Jeremy didn't want to continue reading, but he did. It just went on and on. It made part of him angry. Another part sniffled. The SQUIP was peering at him pointedly. 

      _Need I say more?  
_

Jeremy was stock still. His chest felt like it had been smashed in to, then into fourths, then eighths for complete destruction. Water pricked up in his eyes.

     Of course it all been a lie. What else would he get? He wasn't nice. He took advantage of people. He deserved this.

      _You don't,_ the SQUIP said.  _I can help you._

"Fuck off."

     Then he felt a pain in his hand. He yelped, and his heart stopped for a second. 

      _I'm helping you whether you want it or not._

Jeremy opened his mouth, but he felt more shocks. Sharp, painful jolts that made his muscles seize and his knees buckle. The water at the edges of his eyes turned to full-on tears in seconds. At first the shocks began in his hands, then they spread to his legs. He fell to the floor, the pain from hitting the ground only faintly registering in his mind. He couldn't even make a sound.

      _Soon, you'll see._ the SQUIP said.  _You'll understand, Jeremy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been a month and a half. Hi.
> 
> Apologies for taking so long. I had (Have) doubts about this chapter, to be honest. I don't know whether or not you guys'll like it, especially because I know I've written myself into a cliff edge. I'm stuck down this path, though, and now... this'll be what it'll be. All I hope is that I can entertain you. 
> 
> Am I being dramatic? A bit, yeah. Maybe I shouldn't write a 6500 word one-shot in two days and get less sleep. That'd probably help too.
> 
> The chapter following this and all others might take a bit. I have ideas for how this is going to go down, and the broadstrokes I'm sure of, but the nitty-gritty is proving harder to pin down. You'll know how that goes by when I post next.
> 
> If you're still interested in my writing, and if I haven't already mentioned this, I'm on Fanfiction.net. I use the same name, sans the underscore. There's mostly other fandom stories on there, so if you're just here for the musicals, I'd steer clear. 
> 
> Welp. I'm out of things to say. I hope you did like reading this, so tell me what you think! Any and all bookmarks/kudos/comments will be greatly appreciated. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	26. Fight For You part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am currently working on my bachelors in evil from the University of Being a Dick. I've been told I'm improving!

      **Jeremy** **didn't** remember the shocks stopping. Or starting. He couldn't remember anything. 

     He didn't become numb to it after a while or something. It didn't get to a point that it he couldn't feel anymore from how all-encompassing it was. The pain wasn't something that made his mind go blank. It set everything in him on fire. 

     After he fell, everything was a haze of half formed cusses, and the only way he was certain he was still, in fact, alive, was that the pain continued. That meant by some improbability he was stubbornly sucking in oxygen. At some point he couldn't ascertain, he must've begun sweating, because he felt the sickly warmth of the liquid running down his forehead at some point. Despite the fact that his jaw was clenched, he kept opening and closing his pie hole, the only way he could express his plight. 

     Everything hurt. It was as if someone had gone to his nerves and set a slew of fire ants loose on each and every single one of them, and while that was happening locked him in a room full of pissed off yellow jackets. Snot came out of his nose, and the tears poured out unremittingly. 

     Idiot. Amidst the noxious cloud of  _ow_ in his head, that was the main thought running through his head. Idiot.

     This - all of it - was his fault. He brought it all down his head by his actions. His choices. He brought the SQUIP; he went along with it; he  _enjoyed_ going along with it; he hurt Brooke, Michael, and doomed whatever chances he might've had with Christine; he nearly turned the whole school into a hivemind. he did those things. No-one else. 

     Jeremy buried his face in the carpet as best he could, while he convulsed internally. A thousand thoughts and snippets ran through his head: sixteen years of social struggles, fuck-ups, and scattered memories that dug into him like shrapnel. Each one hurt more than the last. 

      _"Michael is a remnant of Jeremy 1.0. To upgrade, you must leave him behind."_

_"But..."_

_"Do you want to stay a loser forever, Jeremy?"_

_"No..."_

_"Do you know how to get popular on your own? To get Christine on your own?"_

_"No..."_

_"Then listen to me."_

Every bit of agony he was feeling he deserved. His due punishment. Jeremy wasn't one for faith overmuch, especially after the SQUIP had been shut off, but a part of him wondered vaguely if God really was real and this was his judgement. Maybe he'd died on the stage and this was his personal purgatory. 

      _"Kiss her."_

_"I don't really like her-"_

_"Kiss her, Jeremy. She'll only stand there so long. She expects you to make the first move."_

_"-But I don't like her!"_

_"She makes your genitals engorge."_

_"T-that - that doesn't mean I_ like  _her!"_

_"You don't need to like her."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"You do not need to harbor any affection for her whatsoever, Jeremy. What you need to do is satisfy her to the point where she introduces you to her social circles."_

_"I got you so I could get Christine!"_

_"And you will, Jeremy. But this is a necessary part of the process."_

_"Whoring myself out?"_

_"Consider it practice, Jeremy."_

_"'Practice'?"_

_"Yes, practice. Now put your hands on her hips."_

_"I don't like her!"_

_"Do you want to be popular? Get Christine?"_

_"Of course I do..."_

_"Then make this sacrifice now, so you can date Christine later."_

_"But..."_

_"The only 'but' you should be thinking about is hers. Start kissing. Now."_

_"I … I guess this'd is kinda fun..."_

_"Exactly."_

Fake. That's he'd been. Or perhaps that's what he'd always been, and all he needed was the right motivation to give in to his real nature. He wasn't able to ponder much past that, because the rest of his head was filled with "Aughhhhh".

     Then it stopped. Every shock ceased abruptly, and everything felt normal again. Jeremy heard his door creak open in a long, painfully drawn-out sound. For some ungodly reason, he found it within himself to cringe. 

     "Jeremy...?" his father's voice was quiet bewilderment, but it hurt Jeremy's ears all the same. "What's going on?"

     Jeremy gave a raspy gasp. A second - or maybe an eternity, it could've been either and he wouldn't've been surprised - before everything was wrong with him. But now it was like nothing happened. There was no evidence of anything. The only evidence was on his face: in the hot, salty liquid stinging his eyes and the mucus flowing from his nose. 

     Nobody would believe the truth. He knew that. Which meant he had to come up with something fast. 

     Jeremy got to his feet, on trembling legs, and he felt a supporting hand on his back. His father spoke again, and he winced. "What's going on, Jeremy?"

     Jeremy swallowed thickly as bile began to bubble up in his throat. He kept his eyes on the floor. "I.. I-I... I t-tripped. I'm-" the word scorched his throat as he said it, "-I'm okay. J-just. A... a lot of stuff."

     "You haven't been getting more trouble from those girls, have you?"

     Jeremy stifled a bitter sound. "No... no. It's n-not that."

     His father clearly didn't buy it, but one look at his son told him that pressing him wasn't a good idea. "Alright," he said carefully, "How about I order pizza? Does a meat lover's sound good to you?"

     Meat lovers. It was Jeremy's favorite. He hadn't had it since - since middle school. Jeremy nodded, the simple action taking far more out of him than it should have. 

     "Are you okay to stand up on your own?" his father asked. Jeremy swallowed again, before nodding again. 

     His father was gone within a few moments, and once the door closed, Jeremy heard a flat, masculine, perfect voice ring in his rattled head. 

      _He didn't believe you._ the SQUIP said. 

No shit he didn't. Jeremy knew he probably looked terrible, even aside from the fact that he and lying had a very long-distance relationship. 

      _Indeed,_ the SQUIP began pacing toward the door.  _I calculate a 99.5 percent chance that you don't look good right now. You are an ugly crier, Jeremy._

"W-why," Jeremy began, voice shaking, "aren't you shocking me?"

      _I feel I have made my point,_ the SQUIP replied simply. 

     If the point was to make him hurt, Jeremy considered that done. The SQUIP crossed its arms, frowning. 

      _That was only my third highest setting, you know. I can do far more than shock you._

 Jeremy stiffened as if hit by a lightning bolt. He almost tripped over himself, too, which was fun. He eyed the spotless, immaculately-shaven Blue Man Group Keanu Reeves across from him for a long moment. His fear got into a scuffle that turned into a scrap that turned into a pitched battle with everything else in himself, but deep down he knew the answer from the beginning:

     Between an unstoppable force and an unmovable object, only one had the capacity to break.

     It made him feel horrible, used, and dirty, but he inclined his head slowly. Silently, he promised himself that he wouldn't let this stand. Somehow, he'd find a way out. The SQUIP was just one supercomputer in control of his body, after all. There had to be some weakness in it, right? He couldn't stay wasted for his entire life, he knew that, but there had to be some other way. All he had to do was out think the thing that could read his thoughts.

     A fool-proof plan, basically. 

      _Go get a shower,_ the SQUIP said,  _and clean up your face. Snot makes you 25 percent less attractive._

Jeremy squared his jaw, insides half in revolt in half in dejection. He trudged over to the bathroom and when he saw his face, he couldn't stop his internal cringe: his cheeks were red, eyes ditto but with the perfect amount of puff to make them extraordinarily unseemly to look at. Snot was indeed flowing down his face, a green, goopy river that was dangerously close to his mouth, not even counting the flecks of it across his face. His hair was even more of a frazzled mess than usual, with ends and stands sticking up like a disorganized mob had ransacked his brown mop. There was a small tremble in his hands as he wiped his eyes. 

     The SQUIP disappeared for his shower, thank god. As he got out and dried himself, no pixel-y movie star in the corner of his eye, Jeremy let out a long, downtrodden sigh. 

      _Eat dinner and speak with your father._

Jeremy tried (And failed) to not jump at the SQUIP's voice. He waited another few moments for more, but was met with radio silence. When he began hearing a light buzzing in his ears, he finally headed for his room, throwing on a pair of gray sweatpants and a brown t-shirt, half-expecting some snide remark at the look. Again, he waited for a second, and again, he received nothing in return.

     Jeremy trudged into the kitchen, feeling a light tingling when his shoulders began to slink downward. It was instinct that he stiffened and corrected his posture, which unnerved him more than he'd've liked to admit. His father was sitting on the couch with his laptop open, and Jeremy saw that he was typing an email to someone. He squinted, and when he saw who it was meant for, he made a loud choking sound. His father quickly shut his laptop and turned to him. 

     "I know what you're thinking-" he began, hands held up placatingly, but Jeremy squared his jaw roughly. 

     "I don't want to know," he muttered, and he stuffed his hands inside his pockets. His father was getting up, and he felt no tingling sensation this time. 

     "Jeremy," his father said slowly, "I know this year has been hard on you. I - well, I thought -"

     "Wrong." Jeremy spat, and soon the words were coming out, wreathed in his angst and anger. "You thought wrong."

     "She's your mother, Jeremy."

     "And I don't want to talk to her!" Jeremy cried, throwing his arms up, and he felt a tingling sensation. He stiffened. His father rubbed his temple and sighed.

     "This conversation isn't over," he said, "But the pizza will be here soon. Is there anything you want to watch on the TV?"

     Jeremy took in a calming breath, some part of him noting with alarm that the concept of 'TV' was something that felt incredibly foreign now. He thought for a moment, then gave a sheepish shrug. "Uh... Mean Girls?"

     His father gave him a bemused look. "Didn't that make you cry?"

     "I-it's interesting!" Jeremy stuttered, and from somewhere, he heard a quiet _tsk tsk_. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets. "...Besides, I haven't watched it in a while."

     His father smiled. "No problem, kiddo."

     " _Dad._ "

     His father laughed, and for a second Jeremy did as well. By the time the show was on and he'd sat down, though, a sharp, judgmental voice cut into his thoughts. 

      _Control your emotions, Jeremy. You cannot lose control of them in front of others._

     Suddenly, his choice felt a bit too fitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would ya look at that. 
> 
> See, it's times like these that make me hate my capacity for angst. On the other hand, this chapter got done without another month down the drain, so I'll take this as a victory. 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter. It could be longer, but the end just sorta... happened. It felt natural to me, so I went with it. Whether this made you smile or grimace, let me know what you think! As always, any and all kudos/bookmarks/comments will be greatly appreciated. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	27. Fight For You part 2

      **The weekend** was fairly dull for Jeremy. At least, in one way it was. 

     His father didn't bring up the stupid idea he'd had whatsoever, and in fact, Jeremy noticed by Sunday night that his laptop screen hadn't been in a place where he could see for two days. That fact didn't make going to sleep any easier. 

     Mainly, the SQUIP had him working. "Working" in SQUIP-land meant two things: exercise and etiquette. 

     Jeremy hated it. 

     He couldn't deny that he did feel slightly better after finishing the paces he was being put through, but that was always swamped by the reason why he was doing it. The SQUIP restricted it, for now, to push-ups and sit-ups. The main thing Jeremy got from that was a loss of feeling in his arms and his first literal tummy ache. 

     "Etiquette" in the SQUIP's view hadn't changed from how it had been before he shut it off. Oh, sure, he wasn't repeating "Everything about me is terrible" for five minutes each day, but the insults didn't stop. He was forced to replay his social encounters at Westerberg one-by-one, from his first few minutes spent avoiding people in the hallway to the whirlwind of disaster that came from JD's... thing. 

     Currently, he was stuck with Chandler's face frozen in her patented sneer. He was surrounded by kids, the sun was hitting his back, and behind her Duke and McNamara watched. The more he studied their faces, the less pretty they looked: it was like they had some magical way of getting more infuriating the more you had to deal with them. It was mildly impressive in a way. 

      _Do you know what you did wrong here?_

Jeremy knew the answer to that alright. He pissed off the most popular girl in school. What was there more to say?

      _Wrong again, Jeremy. You disrespected her. There is a distinct difference between the two. You should know that._

Jeremy couldn't fully stifle his snort at that, but no shock came. He waited for the SQUIP to say something, but the only response he got came in the form of the scene changing abruptly from an End of School Traffic Jam Showdown to a cafeteria. Again, kids were staring. He found himself in the wonderful position of being assaulted by Chandler's looks. She was leaned over the table he was sitting at, right in his personal space. He'd averted eye contact at the time, but it just so happened that the SQUIP chose the exact second before he did so to put him in. Convenient.

     For the first time in his life, Jeremy wished he had bad vision. Knowing Chandler, though, the sheer amount of sneering social imperialism would come through just fine anyways, even if he couldn't see that her hands were actually very spidery the more he looked at them. He could see that, though, and the shiver that descended his back came accordingly. 

      _Do you know what you did wrong here, Jeremy?_

Again, Jeremy found himself internally rolling his eyes. What was he even supposed to say? He should've checked his only friend for a gun? Who even carries one? How could he have predicted something like that?

      _Wrong again, Jeremy. You continued talking. You should've shut up and taken whatever she had to throw at you._

That was a good hundred percent bull in Jeremy's estimation. The only reason he'd gotten as far as he had was because he hadn't given in. 

     The SQUIP sighed, and the scene changed a third time. Now he was getting grabbed by the jocks. Jeremy shut his eyes, which made his brain hurt to comprehend but he just went along with, but that didn't stop him from seeing their cruel faces. 

      _Do you know how you could have stopped this?_

Jeremy refused to answer for a moment. The bruises still hurt: whenever he'd bump into something he'd get that special little jab or pain the body seemingly reserved for them, which helped about as much as a hammer to the pinky toe. Even aside from that, he had no interest in reliving a beating. His brow furrowed, and his moment of silence ballooned into thirty seconds of non-interaction beyond shutting his eyes and attempting to mentally distance himself from the jocks' faces. 

     When he opened his eyes again, he was still staring at their 60s greaser features and fuckboy haircuts. He glared at them for another second, fully anticipating a bout of shocks, but the anti-climax that met him proved far worse. It held a tension, the torture of possibility and uncertainty when every door available leads to a steaming outcome of crap. Jeremy glanced around him, feeling the imperious hand on his shoulder, digging into his shoulder blade, which still managed to give him grief even in the memory. 

     Oh, he hated the SQUIP. So much. 

     "I should've sucked up to Chandler." he said. The words came out scratchily, bitterly, more forced than the smiles he'd been practicing. At that moment, he despised everything to do with Ohio, to the letters. 

     The memory fell away, and he was in his room again. He was disorientated for a moment, and put a hand on his bed to steady himself, having just straightened his back when he felt a sharp, harsh jolt run down his neck. He stiffened, emitting a poorly-stifled yelp, and the SQUIP materialized on the right side of his bed, poised perfectly on the edge of his comforter. 

     Jeremy put all his focus toward keeping his jaw in place, because he was afraid of what might happen if he let it run free. The SQUIP tsked. 

      _That was to remind you, Jeremy,_ it said, and it materialized right in front of him.  _You need me. And I'm here to help you. Now get some sleep. Eyebags make you seven percent less attractive, and compared to your last statistics, you barely scrape up a five._

     I love my life, Jeremy thought. 

 

* * *

 

     When Nicole knocked on Michael's front door, she expected a speedy response. That had always been Michael's style. He'd told her early on that to keep a lady waiting was a crime as far as he was concerned - and, to give him due credit, he had lived up to that principle. There were some days (Which were a  bit more common now, part of her added unhelpfully) where something came up or he was slow, but generally he was on point as she could've hoped for. With East Coast winter, she appreciated that greatly.

     A gust of wind bit at her, and she pulled her jacket tighter against her. The hood of her jacket kept most wind away from her face, thankfully, but standing out here was doing a number on her body temperature. She dug her hands deeper into her pockets, muttering under her breath. Jersey was great during the thirty percent of the year the rest of the world associated with it, but aside from that she could've mistaken it for Massachusetts. 

     Finally, the door opened, and she was met with a sight that made her lips curve down. 

     Michael stood there, signature hoodie present, smiling, but the note of tiredness on his face was larger than she would've liked. There were bags under his eyes, and his hair was intensely frazzled. His hair had always stubbornly maintained a degree of messiness, sure, yet Michael had always put some effort toward corralling the mass of brown strands. Clearly, he'd dropped that. 

     Nicole looked at him disapprovingly. "Did you sleep last night?"

     Michael nodded promptly, and with enthusiasm. Then as second later he had to stifle a yawn and Nicole shook her head. Michael frowned back at her. "Hey! I did!"

     "When?" she snapped. Michael hesitated for a second, during which his girlfriend let him suffer under her reprove. Michael finally sighed, lowering his head. He turned away from her, shoulders slumped slightly, and gestured for her to follow. Nicole sighed.

     When she arrived in his room, she saw his laptop was shut. She shot that a reproving look, too; a day or so before, she'd found him trolling eBay looking for Mountain Dew Red. The prices were ridiculously high for a six-pack of sugar in a can, so she politely inquired as to what he was getting it for. She knew of his soft spot for retro things - he had a colecovision for Christ's sake - but that was just plain... weird. Sure, he had a thing of crystal pepsi that people would only touch on his deathbed (His words) but more 90's sodas? That was strange. At first she was slightly bemused, but when he stiffened like she'd insulted his mothers and stone walled her, she became worried. Not only that, but that incident coincided with his loss of sleep over the past few days.

     Michael flopped down on the floor, leaning against the wall. A bowl of popcorn was already prepped. Normally she would've smiled at this, but his face had her lips firmly pursed. Michael turned on the TV abruptly, and the black-and-white sixties cheese began to play. She sat down next him, and his hands were conspicuously inside his hoodie pocket. 

     After a time that was likely very short but felt like forever, Nicole let out an exasperated sound. She sat herself right in front of him firmly, expression and jaw set determinedly. 

     "You're blocking the TV," Michael said dully. The lack of emotion in his voice made Nicole's alarm bells ring. 

     "And something is bothering you," she said back, a bit more snappish than she would've liked. She softened her expression. "What's wrong, Mike?"

     Michael looked at her with lidded eyes for a space, before he let out a long breath. "It's... Jeremy. I'm trying to get him something important - and I can't find it. My guy at payless moved to another location somewhere, and this stuff is rare. Don't worry - it's not like, drugs or anything - I'm just..." Michael fell silent, before rubbing his temples. "Tired."

     Heere and his problems. That boy was going drive her boyfriend into the ground, whether he meant to or not, and she wouldn't do that. She reached for his hands, and squeezed them. "Does this... does it have anything to do with that eBay thing?"

     Michael stiffened like she'd insulted his moms again. He relaxed after another moment again, though. "Yeah. It's complicated. Like really complicated. But I - Jeremy needs it. You know he's having it rough in Ohio."

     It did indeed seem like Heere had his fair share of problems in the Midwest, yes. But it shouldn't've been affecting Michael like this. It was, though, and Nicole was reminded why she liked him so much partly for that reason. She kissed his cheek and drew away so they were nose to nose. "Do you want help?" 

      Michael hesitated for a second, before he slowly nodded. His eyes held hopeful question. "Don't tell anyone, alright?"

     "'Course I won't," Nicole responded. "Besides, it's one of our Guys' secrets."

     That got Mike to laugh, and suddenly ten minutes in the cold felt like a plenty fair trade to her. 

 

* * *

 

    Was it a bad sign if you couldn't feel your arms? Or the lower half of your upper body? Or your shoulders?

     It probably was, Jeremy decided. That only evoked a meek "Oh" from his mind, which should've been more alarming than it was. It might've been, he supposed, if he wasn't, you know, stuck under the thumb of an egomaniacal breath mint. 

      _I am only here to help you, Jeremy. Now ten more push-ups. Then your shower._

Jeremy sighed, sucking in a deep breath and breathing out before forcing himself to sink down. His hips touched the ground briefly, and he quickly pulled them up. He still got a shock. When the set was done, Jeremy wanted to put his head on the floor and lay there for a good half-an-hour to forever. The SQUIP didn't let his head touch the floor. He felt a sharp stab of pain in his neck halfway down. 

     With lidded eyes, Jeremy got up. He went over to his closet and paused, waiting. 

      _Your normal clothes will suffice for now._

Jeremy never thought that he'd ever resent a color as unremarkable as brown, but he found a spout of anger coursing through him as he grabbed his normal get-up in a messy bundle. He should've been happy: he still got his clothes. A symbol of the time before the SQUIP! That was... kinda depressing, when Jeremy thought about it. 

      _Stop angsting. You have two minutes before you're off-schedule._

There was threat in its tone, so Jeremy trudged over to the bathroom. He briefly got a look at his reflection, but quickly avered his eyes. His nose was still off, and his bruise was still purpling. The bags under his eyes had gotten worse. Jeremy stripped out of his plaid PJs (the SQUIP had had him keep any vaguely nerd-related clothes in their boxes) with his eyes halfway between the floor and the ceiling, and drooping toward his feet. 

      Then his knees buckled and his legs felt like they were on fire. 

      _You have a busy day ahead of you, Jeremy. You are nearly behind the schedule we talked about. Get. Moving._

Jeremy took his shower quickly. He (somehow) brushed his teeth and used copious amounts of mouthwash. He was afraid his Colgate would betray him and make his tongue would be blue when he finally walked out of the cramped space, but again found that he didn't care overmuch. If anything, he'd've welcomed it.

     He didn't talk to his father all that much. Jeremy was still mightily ticked at him, even with his seemingly rapid onset of apathy. How he got it through his head that making him talk to her was a good idea he didn't know. 

     Jeremy finished breakfast and got up, posture flawless, and as he was met with a nice, refreshingly bitter gust of wind when he opened the door, his lips curved upward into a smile.

     Jeremy wasn't smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salutations. 
> 
> I actually finished this one in time! Hurray! 
> 
> My hope is that this doesn't feel like filler, because it isn't, and I wanted to delve into Jeremy's and the SQUIP's dynamic, especially with the... interesting Jeremy I've developed. Nicole is enjoyable, too. A different view on Jeremy is something I wanted in this story. I hope she doesn't come off as some 'Evil Girlfriend' stereotype. She's not meant to be. If all of my characters' genders were reversed, in any case, I'd set up the exact same type of behavior. 
> 
> Aside from that, I'm out of things to say. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. Any and all comments/likes/kudos will make me smile. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


	28. Fight for You part 3

      **The wind** blew.

     A maple leaf hit Jeremy square in the nose. He muttered to himself and walked on.

     The morning was what some might describe as crisp. To Jeremy, it more annoyingly cold than anything else. By the time he got to the bus stop, he had little doubt that his face was red. For once it wasn't from being astoundingly nervous, and for that Jeremy threw his head back, letting out a sound that just met the classifications of a laugh.  

     He stuck his hands in his pockets for a moment, before quickly extraditing them from the safety of his jeans. He didn't feel a shock. That was probably a good sign.

     It was the best he got, anyway. The yellow form of the bus came down the street, smelling of diesel and deodorant. Jeremy was still smiling. Damn it, he was still fucking smiling. Why the hell was he smiling? He didn't have anything to be happy about!

      _Smiling ingratiates people to you, Jeremy. And your smile raises your attractiveness by three percent._

So he was a 5.15 when he looked like someone hit with the Joker's laughing gas? Cool. Awesome.

     Even as his own snark ran through his head, though, Jeremy couldn't stop his wince at the jolt that ran through him. 

      _Enough of that, Jeremy. You have people to impress._

Of course. Why wouldn't he want to impress the people who had done basically nothing to help him? He certainly couldn't see why. 

     He waited for the shock as the bus stopped in front of him. None came. 

     Jerk, Jeremy thought. He climbed the stairs and was able to take his seat in the back, which surprised him. He expected an answer to that, but the SQUIP gave no answer. He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and put it next him as he slid onto the olive green mass. Jeremy sat there, straight-backed, occasionally glancing out the window, exasperated by the fact that he wasn't allow to just lean back against his seat and relax for a few seconds. He couldn't, though, he supposed. He had a reputation to build. Or something.  

     His heart had a great idea when he saw Page: it stopped for a moment, and made him stiffen completely. She was only in jeans and that same long, brown coat again. Nothing fancy. She met his eyes scarily fast.

     _Fake,_ some part of him spat as he looked away. Jeremy focused on his shoes. He glanced across the aisle and saw that the other seat was occupied by two other kids. Good. And he'd put his backpack next to him. That was a good thing. 

     Probably, anyway. The SQUIP threw his train of thought about fifteen feet from the track before it could really get rolling. 

      _Change how you think about your peers. Thinking in terms of Us and Them won't help you._

Jeremy didn't much care about Us vs. Them. He was far more concerned with Me vs My Tyrannical Tic-tac. 

     He finally felt a shock at that. A tiny jolt that went through his pinky toe. Which were hidden by his shoes. 

     So none of them would notice. 

     Jeremy should've shattered his smile into a million pieces from the anger he felt when he realized that. Instead, it quickly climbed into his throat, where it abruptly stopped. It remained there, seething, making him clench his fists until his skin was more stretched over his knuckles than actually attached to it. A vein may or may not have popped in his forehead. He was too angry to be sure.

     His breath began to slow. In, out. In, out. In... out. God, being angry was work. 

     Hold on-

     "-Hello?" Page's voice yanked Jeremy's attention back to the real world. "Jeremy?"

     His head snapped around to look at her. She was frowning with a note of concern. Jeremy blinked; His smile fell. "Um..."

     The people across the aisle were peering at him and Page. She cocked her head to the side. "You okay? You look... different."

     "Me? Oh! Um, yeah. I'm fine." Jeremy responded. Geez, just looking at her hurt. Talking to her? His voicebox felt a second away from rising up against him. He gulped in air. "I'm fine."

     "Okay," Page shrugged. "Can I sit down?"

      _Say no._   _You're over her._

Jeremy was frozen for a second that felt longer than it had any right to; He had no interest in talking to Page more, especially if she was faking all of this. It was a massive dick thing for her to do, for one, and for two it just plain hurt. On the other hand, he didn't want to do what the SQUIP said either. Talking to Page wasn't what it wanted. It'd make him seem sad: hopelessly fallen for someone who was faking a relationship with him. Pitiful. Oh, that poor Heere kid. Did you hear about how he's totally into that weird girl who's only into popular guys? Poor thing. 

     Jeremy sucked in a breath. His toes tingled. "No."

     Page's frown deepened. "'No'?"

     "Uh-huh." Jeremy replied stiffly. The people across the aisle were really watching him now. Page plopped herself in his seat, knocking his bag to the floor.  _Thump._

Her eyes were pleading. "I don't know what you've heard-"

     "-No." Jeremy cut in firmly. "Get away from me." Page's eyes bored into his. 

     "I - I thought we were something..." she trailed off, voice soft, then glared at him. She squared her jaw. "Fine. Be like that." 

     She swept up and away from him, commandeering someone else's seat. The boy tumbled out unceremoniously. He spluttered something unintelligible, and grabbed his bag. Jeremy was staring at him. 

     It was that underclassmen from art. The boy caught his eye and blushed in short order, flusteredly looking around him; his expression bled fear and discomfort.

     Maybe it was the SQUIP. Maybe Jeremy just felt bad for the kid. Either way, as he grabbed his own bag, he patted the spot next to him on his seat, looking the boy straight in the eye. He stared back for a moment, before slowly shuffling over to him. 

      _Good choice, Jeremy._

Jeremy rolled his eyes as the boy sat down next to him. He was twiddling his thumbs, eyes skirting up to Jeremy's face before promptly taking interest in the floor. Jeremy swallowed, then coughed. "So, um, sorry about Page."

     The boy blinked at him. "Thanks."

     There was another space of awkward silence after that little exchange. Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck. Had those hairs always been that stiff? Maybe it was the cold?

     He coughed into his hand again. "Err, what's your name?"

     His voice didn't crack on the last word. Nope. That'd be stupid.

     The underclassmen blinked again, twiddling his thumbs even faster. "B-bram. Bram."

     Jeremy found himself cocking his head to the side. "Like... the guy who wrote _Dracula_?" Jeremy vaguely recollected that due to his intense desire to go as a vampire one Halloween. He never actually finished the book (He didn't get much past the first chapter, if he was honest) but he still remembered the author's name. It had sounded funny to him. 

     "Yeah. My dad loved that book. H-he's a writer. Professor. Professor of creative writing, I mean..." Bram trailed off, skittishly maintaining eye contact for just a second. 

      _Basic conversation,_ Jeremy told himself. "Do you write?" Did his voice really have to crack on the middle word? Really? The people across the aisle were watching curiously. 

     Bram shook his head. "No... I paint. Art's fun."

     "Yeah."

     A silence two times too tense for Jeremy's liking flared up. Not only did he have no idea what to say, but also felt like he owed this kid a conversation. Perhaps he didn't. He knew sitting in awkward silence with the guy who accidentally hit you in the back of the head with a paintbrush was really awkward, anyhow. "I'm a more videogame dude myself."

     Bram full-out jumped this time. "Oh! What games do you like?" For some reason, he didn't notice Jeremy's botched phrasing. He was very thankful for that. 

     "Mainly, erm, retro stuff. I have an N64... a-and Gameboy color. I used them all the time back home." Okay, he was definitely getting weird looks from the people across the aisle. It was required he expose the fullness of his nerdom to the world, wasn't it? 

     Bram's eyes seemed to brighten, though. "Isn't the Gameboy color from the ninties?"

     Jeremy was rubbing the back of his neck aggressively. "Yeah. My friend Michael and I... well, we found it in a box of his Mom's old things from when she was a kid. We - actually, it was more her, I guess - put it back together. We played it a lot."

     Bram was looking at him with something close to wonderment. "Wow. I always hear about people having that old stuff, but... wow. That's cool."

     "Thanks." Jeremy's voice was quiet. 

     Bram wrung his hands in full. "Where'd you go to before Westerburg?"

     Jeremy stiffened somewhat. "I - I lived in New Jersey. Middleborough. Um, I went to a school called Middleborough, I mean. It was..." Jeremy paused. "...fine, I guess."

     "Was it as bad as it is here?" Bram asked, before rapidly backpedaling. "Ah, y-you don't have to talk about that if you don't want to I was just curious-"

     Jeremy forced a chuckle. Some part of him helpfully pointed out that he sounded more akin to a man talking to in-laws he despised, but it sounded close enough to a chuckle for him, anyways. "Nah, nah, it's fine. It..." Jeremy had to take a moment to find his voice. "...it wasn't as bad as here, I guess. I mean there wasn't like, anything as bad as Chandler there. Michael was a good friend."

      _That you hurt,_ some part of him said. It didn't get its proposition vocalized. 

     "I came from California." Bram blurted. He intertwined his fingers. "Uhm, yeah. My dad worked as a surgeon and my mom as a counselor. We moved here after my mom got a job at Westerburg." Bram's eyes seemed to dim a bit. "Sometimes..."

     Jeremy blinked. His face must've had "Oh" written all over it, because Bram said nothing else and looked at his shoes. The bus rattled to a stop in front of Westerburg, and he got up in a flash, which made his jacket flutter. "See you."

     Jeremy quietly got up after him. He briefly glimpsed Bram rushing inside the school, glancing around him tensely, before he joined the jostling mess of teenagers slowly making their way into school. He made it to his locker without incident, thankfully, aside from one time where a quarterback "Bumped" into him and nearly sent him faceplanting into the floor. He kept his feet as the only things touching linoleum, however, and was halfway to his first class when a crowing laugh scratched against his eardrums.

     Maybe purgatory wouldn't be so bad, now that he thought about it. 

     Jeremy would've sighed heavily if he could've, but instead he was only allowed to continue pacing stubbornly down the hallway. Mr. Krikor's class was only a few paces away. If he could join the line- 

     "-Upset, Heere?" Duke jeered. Her cronies let out squawking giggles.

      _Join the line._

     As if he had to be told that, Jeremy thought with an internal eyeroll. He knew that was the smart thing to do. The question was never if he knew that - it was if Duke would let him. And the answer to that...

     "Don't wanna talk, Heere? What's wrong?" Duke's voice had gotten closer. How did she do that? "Did you have a fight with your girlfriend?" 

     Somehow, a word with generally good connotations had Jeremy mentally cussing. Why the hell did she care what he did? Why? He'd only wanted to get to his bus. 

     He would've clenched his fists if he'd been able. Instead, he stopped walking. A change of plans, then. 

     Jeremy's body was turning to face Duke of the SQUIP's accord. Perfect clothes, check. Immaculate makeup, check. Infuriating and horrible personality, check. She pouted at him. "Someone's unhappy, huh?"

     "Yep." Jeremy gritted out. He hoped his surprise didn't show on his face, because if he wasn't mistaken, he'd just been able to choose his own words in a social situation. 

     "Was that Page girl  _mean_ to you?" Duke kept her faux-concern intact, but the mirth showed in her eyes. 

     "Yep." Why was the SQUIP letting him talk?

     "Do you need to talk about your feelings with someone?" Duke grinned at him evilly. 

     "Anyone but you would be nice, actually." Jeremy answered, and he could've sworn someone snickered in the hall. Duke's grin didn't falter. If anything, it got wider. 

     "See," she began, and Jeremy cringed internally, "This is how you _don't_ treat someone trying to help you," her voice became a mocking drawl that went together with his eardrums like nails and a chalkboard. "But since I'm feeling kind, I'll still listen, don't you worry your nerdy little head."

     That wasn't funny. It really, truly, utterly wasn't. Duke's friends laughed anyway. With some glares, other kids joined in. 

     Jeremy was kinda thankful his real emotions couldn't show on his face. The bell rang, and Jeremy was allowed to slip into class with the other stragglers in the line. Unfortunately, Duke was behind him the entire time, trying to twist his arm. Jeremy sat down, and had it not been for the SQUIP maintaining his posture, he would've gladly slumped down and not moved for the period.

      _That could have gone better,_ the SQUIP said.

     No way, man, Jeremy thought back. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he darted his eyes over to it, finding nothing. He felt his shoulder being squeezed without it being touched by anyone. 

      _Things will improve, Jeremy. And the Mycenean kingdoms existed from 2000-1100 BCE._

Jeremy was thoroughly confused for a second, before Mr. Krikor's eyes turned to him. 

     "Mr. Heere," he said, "What is the culture that rose and fell before the Greek Dark Ages and heavily influenced the Homeric Greeks?"

     Jeremy stiffened. "Um..."

     "We covered this in the first week of class, Mr. Heere."

     Jeremy gripped his desk with white knuckles. "Uhm…" his voice caught in his throat, making him swallow. He lowered his eyes. "T-the Myceneans? From 2000 to 1100 BCE?"

     "Correct, Mr. Heere," Mr. Krikor said, "well done. Now..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who finally updated! 
> 
> This chapter went through its own little transformation as I wrote it, and I have a bad feeling the next chapter might take a little bit, but I have some ideas for it, so that's good. :)
> 
> Not much for me to say, if I'm honest. I hope you enjoyed reading the torture of these characters as much as I did writing it. Any and all kudos/comments/bookmarks will make me smile. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac


End file.
